


Untold Stories

by storyofeden



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Good Draco Malfoy, HEA, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Torture, Librarian Hermione Granger, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Post-Hogwarts, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Professor Draco Malfoy, Re-telling of Canon Typical Violence, Slow Burn, referenced suicidal ideation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:41:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 33,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27026005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyofeden/pseuds/storyofeden
Summary: Witches and wizards set upon repairing Hogwarts after the war. In a step towards rehabilitation, they try to eliminate some of the more...problematic rooms of the castle. Hogwarts, however, fought back. Much like ghosts, the castle will not move on if there is still unfinished business.Tired of her job at the Ministry, Hermione Granger returns to Hogwarts when Madam Pince retires. Little does she know that she may be embarking on her own journey of rehabilitation.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 27
Kudos: 214





	1. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first non-oneshot in the HP fandom. And I'm really proud of myself for finishing it (because I'm good at not finishing things I start). My tumblr is storyof-eden.
> 
> I don't own HP. Obviously.

**August 2004**

When Madam Pince had announced her retirement at the end of the previous term, Hermione jumped at the chance to fill the open position. She immediately owled Headmistress McGonagall and begged for an interview. When they met in the Three Broomsticks, her former professor looked at her shrewdly over the ever-present square spectacles and didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“You’re currently working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, correct? And before that, you worked in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures?”

Hermione nodded.

“Miss Granger,” McGonagall paused, looking somewhere between confused and appalled. “Mr. Potter is already Head Auror at the Ministry of Magic. Mr. Weasley is his second in command. You are obviously on the fast track to become the Minister of Magic. Kingsley is already planning for you to be his successor. Why on earth would you want to give that up to be the librarian at Hogwarts?”

Hermione acknowledged the strangeness of it all, but she’d thought about this, and she also knew that her professor would understand. So, she met the Headmistress’s eyes with a look of determination. “Rufus Scrimgeour once asked me if I planned to follow a career in Magical Law. My response was in the negative, telling him that I was hoping to do some good in the world instead.”

She took a deep breath. McGonagall continued to look at her sternly, but her eyes had softened just the tiniest bit with understanding.

So, Hermione continued on a sigh, “And yet somehow, I have found myself working for the Ministry in Magical Law. At the risk of sounding immodest, I probably know more about werewolf law, house-elf legislation, and unforgivable curses and defensive spells than anyone else in Britain.” At this point, she broke eye contact with the older woman. “But I don’t feel like I’m doing good. Politics is not where I belong. Harry is great at navigating it because he’s an Auror, and he’s had a lifetime of learning how to be Harry Potter. Ron is surprisingly adept at it as well, and to be frank, he loves the attention.”

She looked back up at McGonagall and met her eyes once more. “I want to help the next generation learn, instead of dealing with messes after the damage is done. I want to do some good in the world, professor.”

Hermione swallowed dryly, determined to keep her voice level and her face blank. She was speaking the truth, just not revealing everything.

“And what makes you think you have the qualifications to be the librarian at this school?” McGonagall asked, giving Hermione a look that said she already knew all her answers.

“I’d say I’ve spent more time in that library than anyone, save for Madam Pince. I know it backward and forward. And I believe that my assisting classmates with their work while in school was integral in their success. I--I know it was.”

She hoped it was.

Professor McGonagall cast her a knowing look. “May I presume that there was firewhisky involved in the conversation wherein Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley thanked you?”

“Of course.” Hermione laughed, but it was slightly hollow. She loved Harry and Ron, and she knew they appreciated her, but neither one was forthcoming with their thanks. To her or anyone else.

The Headmistress continued to look at Hermione with a thoughtful expression. When she finally spoke, she had a smile on her face. “I think we both know that you had the job the moment I received your owl, Miss Granger.”

It was late August, just a week before the term began, when Hermione apparated into Hogsmeade with a small trunk and a handbag thrown over her shoulder. She walked along the well-worn path up to Hogwarts, her heart rate increasing the nearer she got to the grounds.

She hadn’t been back since the battle. 

Six years. It had been six years since she’d been on grounds, six years since she’d been inside the massive castle. Everyone had expected her to return to school after the war to complete her seventh year of schooling. She had declined, opting instead to take Kingsley up on his offer: any Hogwarts student who missed their sixth or seventh year due to the war may take their N.E.W.Ts without returning for formal schooling. His reasoning was that these students had fought in a war--they had succeeded in battle and survived. If the students could do that, they were no longer children held to the previous standards.

No one blinked an eye when Ron, Harry, and Ginny had chosen to take the exams instead of returning to school. Luna had forgone both options and instead bid everyone a short farewell, promising to return in one piece, and headed off on a grand adventure across Europe in search of Nargles, Heffalumps, and Woozles.

Neville was the only one who returned to school for a final year but completed just two N.E.W.T-level courses: Herbology and Care of Magical Creatures. At the end of the year, he took the exams for those two subjects and many others and passed with flying colors.

When Hermione spent the summer after the battle studying for her N.E.W.Ts, no one had been surprised. But when she arrived at the ministry to take the exams with Harry, Ron, and Ginny on September 1st instead of boarding the train at King’s Cross Station, even Kingsley had looked shocked. She waved off their questions with perfunctory answers about wanting to start her career now. But it wasn’t true.

She just hadn’t been able to bring herself to go back. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Fenrir Greyback leaning over Lavender Brown. She saw fiendfyre raging through the Room of Requirement. She saw doors and corridors and walls and towers blow apart and crumble. 

When they’d been together, at first, Ron held her through the nightmares and held her as she sobbed herself back to sleep. Over time, that had faded to him gently patting her back for a few moments and going back to sleep, which became her sleeping in their guest bedroom so she wouldn’t wake him anymore. Perhaps that’s why they had fallen apart.

Hermione blinked and found herself standing at the front gates, Headmistress McGonagall striding towards her across the grounds.

She took a shaky breath. She wanted this job more than anything. She thought it had been long enough. Surely six years was enough time for her grieve. Perhaps seeing the building for herself would even be a cathartic sort of closure. She could do this.

But as McGonagall whipped out her wand to open the gates and waved Hermione through the wards, she wasn’t quite so sure anymore.

“Good afternoon, Miss Granger.”

“Good afternoon, Headmistress.”

“You may call me Minerva now. I do believe you’ve earned that right.”

“Then you will call me Hermione.”

McGonagall raised an eyebrow and smiled, almost proud. They continued their walk towards the castle. “Well, Miss Granger, you will find that the school looks much like it did when you attended.”

Hermione stiffened. There had been so much damage. So much destruction. “Really?”

“I’m sure you read about it in the _Prophet_ , but we were able to repair everything that summer and open for the Fall term.”

Hermione nodded. “Neville attended so he could continue learning from Professor Sprout.”

“Yes,” the Headmistress nodded as they approached the heavy doors at the building entrance. “During the repairs, we attempted to make some renovations as well. We thought it best that the Astronomy Tower be moved to the other side of the building. Professor Sinistra insisted there would be a better view of the planets. The series of rooms off the third-floor corridor and the Chamber under the second-floor girls’ bathroom were all to be destroyed.”

Hermione stiffened. “...attempted?”

McGonagall smiled sadly and looked up at the building. “Hogwarts fought back, Miss Granger. You know as well as I do that the castle, much like ghosts, will not move on if there is still unfinished business.”

“Of course,” Hermione nodded. She had read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_ , and she could even say that she had witnessed its power during the battle. But she never actually would have thought that the building would resist change during repairs, especially after what it experienced.

The Headmistress led her through the Grand Entryway and up to the second floor. “As I’m sure you know, your office is in the library, just behind the Transfiguration section, but your living quarters will be down this way.” She pointed ahead as they approached two doors in the dimly lit hallway. “Here you are, Miss Granger. You’ll be in the door on the right. I’ve cleared all the wards that Irma put in place, so you may add any you see fit.” McGonagall stopped in front of two doors. It was then that the older woman seemed just now to notice how little luggage Hermione was holding. “Is that all you brought?”

“ _Capacious extremis_. It’s an undetectable--”

“An undetectable extension charm, I’m aware.” McGonagall raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed. “It’s also above N.E.W.T-level learning, my dear, so I’m quite sure you did not learn it here in school.”

“Our studies must often extend beyond the classroom, professor.” It had taken Hermione a while to learn that one.

McGonagall was clearly fighting back a smile, but Hermione could see the pride in her eyes as she quickly changed the subject. “All staff are meeting in the Great Hall for dinner at six o’clock. There will be some familiar faces as well as new staff.”

Hermione nodded and opened the door to her living quarters. “Thank you, professor.”

She was halfway through the door to her living quarters when McGonagall stopped her. “Miss Granger?” Hermione turned to look at the woman. “It’s good to see you.”

As the headmistress strode back down the corridor, Hermione grinned, feeling some tension leave her body.

A few hours later, Hermione found herself standing just outside the Great Hall, taking deep, calming breaths. She could do this. She could walk into the room and not see Fred’s body lying on a cot next to Professor Lupin, Tonks, and Colin Creevey. She could make it through dinner without seeing Madam Pomfrey racing around, healing as many of the injured as possible. She could walk out after dessert without seeing Voldemort and Harry duel, without seeing Parvati sobbing over Lavender’s body, without seeing survivors from both sides clinging to each other in grief and exhaustion. She was Hermione Granger, and she could do this.

Maybe, she thought as her heart began to race.

“It gets easier,” a voice came from behind her.

She whirled around to see Draco Malfoy walking towards her. “Wh...what?” She stammered.

“It gets easier.” He repeated. Hermione had to admit he looked good--healthy--much better than the gaunt shell of a man she’d seen at his trial.

“What does?”

He gestured towards the Great Hall, then all around them. “Being here. Walking the halls like something tragic didn’t happen. Eating in the Great Hall without feeling sick.”

Hermione nodded. If she really thought about it, she supposed Malfoy would feel much the same way she did. After all, she’d seen the look of terror on his face at the Manor, the regret and fear as he ran from the fiendfyre in the Room of Requirement. She, Harry, and Ron hadn’t spoken at his trial for nothing, after all.

Still, they hadn’t spoken since Narcissa’s trial when he had said a quiet _thanks_ and nothing more. So Malfoy talking to her so casually was certainly a surprise, if not a bit disconcerting.

“What--” she cleared her throat. “What are you doing here?”

“I came on as a professor last year.” Malfoy shrugged. “McGonagall wrote to me, saying they had an open position and asked if I would be interested.”

“Oh?” That surprised her. Though, when she really thought about it, it made sense. Malfoy had been second only to her in many of their subjects. “What do you teach, then?”

“Defense Against the Dark Arts. McGonagall thought my particular experiences would add a certain _something_ to the curriculum.”

Hermione opened her mouth to ask more questions, but Malfoy just smirked and walked into the Great Hall for their staff dinner.


	2. The Sorting Hat

**September 2004**

Hermione believed in forgiveness. She believed in redemption. She believed that people are inherently good, with perhaps the exception of Voldemort and few of his Death Eaters.

It’s why she spoke at Malfoy’s trial, vehemently arguing against a lifetime sentence in Azkaban. She’d explained how he hadn’t named them at Malfoy Manor, sticking instead to “maybe”s and “could be”s. She’d explained how he had stopped Crabbe and Goyle from killing them in the Room of Requirement.

It’s why she hugged Narcissa Malfoy after her trial, much to everyone’s surprise, thanking her for saving Harry’s life. 

And it’s why, when Draco Malfoy broke through the wards of her living quarters in the middle of the night one week after term started, she didn’t hex him. She just let him hold her while she sobbed, trying to forget the nightmare that had her screaming so loud, Malfoy heard it through the wall their quarters shared. Later, she would storm McGonagall’s office, wondering what the hell she was thinking. For right now, she was content to have someone hold her through the tears and terror.

They were sitting on the floor of her bedroom by the time her tears dried. When she pulled away, out of Malfoy’s embrace, he looked almost as pained as she felt.

“Sorry about that,” Hermione started. “I haven’t had a nightmare quite that bad in a few years. It must just be being back here and--”

“Were you dreaming about the Manor?” Malfoy interrupted her.

“Oh, well…” She paused, not knowing what to say. “I know I was screaming, but--”

“I know what it sounds like when you scream in pain, Granger.” He scoffed and rolled his eyes, but she didn’t get the impression that he was angry with her. “I was there, remember?”

After a few moments, she nodded. “It’s not the only nightmare I have, but it certainly replays often enough.”

Malfoy looked disgusted, but there was a hint of surprise on his face. “You have nightmare fodder other than being _Crucio_ ’d by my aunt?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and pulled her knees to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. “Of course, I do. Usually, I dream about the war, about the Battle of Hogwarts, or that day at the Manor. But sometimes, I think about the other stuff we went through. It probably seems smaller, less significant now, but I was only twelve when I had to stop Ron from being strangled by Devil’s Snare. I was thirteen when I was petrified by a basilisk, fourteen when I nearly ran myself ragged using a time-turner, sixteen when a Death Eater hit me with a non-verbal curse in the Ministry of Magic… And that’s all before I was _Crucio_ ’d, Malfoy. I have plenty of nightmare fodder, as you put it.”

She turned back to him. “But I think we all do, don’t you?”

Malfoy looked puzzled. Like he was trying to work something out in sixth-year Arithmancy.

When he finally spoke, it was quiet, “Where’d you learn those wards, Granger? That’s some powerful magic. I don’t remember it being in our N.E.W.T study material.”

“How did you get through them, Malfoy?”

He just smirked, stood up, and walked out of her rooms.

The month of September was somewhat surreal for Hermione, full of odd moments. First was sitting at the staff table, watching the Sorting Hat place each student in their respective House. On her left, Malfoy sat stoically as ever, clapping ever so softly for the new Slytherins. On her right, Neville applauded for every student, even though he was Head of Gryffindor.

The second odd thing was witnessing the friendship that Neville and Malfoy seemed to have. It had been slightly awkward for her to see at first, but the two wizards got along really well. They would chat about different plants that could be used in a variety of ways. Malfoy would mention a potion he was trying to alter, and Neville would talk him through all the plants that could be used for the purpose.

The third was the friendship that _she_ was forming with Malfoy. Their places at the staff table were next to each other, of course, but it seemed like they would spend more time together than not. He would come to see her in the library, and they’d chat about a new Charms book. They’d talk about the new Alchemy theories and whether Ancient Runes or Arithmancy would be more useful. 

Hermione couldn’t say it was unwelcome, but it certainly wasn’t something she had ever expected. She had known Malfoy was intelligent. She had known his views about the world had changed during the war. Now, he was quieter, more reserved, introspective. It was so very un-Malfoy that Hermione found herself staring at him sometimes, trying to figure him out. Then, he would comment on her hair or other aspects of her life, and she would dismiss any doubts.

Still, Draco Malfoy spending his Saturday evenings with Neville and Hermione? That one hadn’t been on her radar.

“He was my first friend, you know,” Hermione said quietly. After their weekly Saturday evening teas with Neville, they had taken to walking around grounds.

“He’s a good bloke,” Malfoy nodded. “Just about the only one who would talk to me when I first arrived to teach last year. Everyone else thought I was going to jinx the Headmistress and take over.”

Hermione looked up at him. “You’re not?”

He scoffed, a smile pulling at his lips, “If I were, I wouldn’t tell you, Granger.”

“That sounds like Neville, though.” She continued. “He certainly has more courage than any of us.”

“Hm,” Malfoy seemed to consider her words for a moment. “You said he was your first friend?”

“Yes. We met on the train. He was looking for his toad, Trevor.” She smiled wistfully. “I went around to each cabin and asked if anyone had seen it. That’s when I met Harry and Ron.”

“Ah, so it’s Neville that led you to Potter and Weasley, then.”

Hermione shook her head and laughed. “Not at all, but Neville was about the only person who was kind to me the first two months of our first year.”

“Two months?!” He sounded incredulous, so she stopped walking to look at him. “I know I was a prat, but I thought you and the wonder boys were attached at the hip from the start.”

It was Hermione’s turn to scoff. She didn’t much like this part of her story, of Harry and Ron’s story. “Well, we weren’t. In fact, they were quite rude.”

“Interesting,” he looked thoughtful. “What changed, then? Did they finally come to their senses? Maybe hit puberty early and fell in love with you?”

“Neither,” which was painfully honest. “It was a mountain troll.”

Malfoy’s jaw dropped in amazement, something Hermione never thought she’d see. “A mountain troll? First year? You mean the one in the girls’ washroom on Halloween?”

Hermione nodded but didn’t respond. She just turned and started walking back towards the castle. Talking about their first year was challenging. Perhaps it shouldn’t be, but the memories were still painful: Ron’s biting insults, the first time she “helped” them with homework, the sight of Ron falling off the knight in Wizard’s Chess.

It took him only a few strides to catch up with her, but they finished the walk back to the second floor in silence.

Hermione was halfway through her doorway when she turned back to him. “You should ask Neville about the time I petrified him our first year.”

“You... _what_?”

But she only laughed and closed the door behind her.

"Madam Granger?" A first-year Ravenclaw inquired quietly, peering over the reference desk a few days later.

"Yes?" She smiled. "What can I help you with?"

"Is it true you can do the _Fiamma Livido_ charm?"

“She absolutely can, Miss Tollett.” It was Malfoy. Of course.

Hermione glared at him. “I can perform the _Fiamma Livido_ charm, but--”

“In fact,” he looked around conspiratorially, then leaned towards the student. “She once used it to set a professor’s robes on fire during a Quidditch match.”

The Ravenclaw’s eyes went wide as she looked back up at Hermione. “Really?”

“I did,” Hermione nodded, casting a scathing look at Malfoy before turning back to the student. “However, it was only to protect a friend. That spell should only be used with great care.”

"Well, erm," the student fidgeted nervously, her gaze shifting between the adults. "I was just wondering if you could teach it to me."

“That’s pretty powerful magic for a first-year, Miss Tollett,” Malfoy looked down at her.

Hermione rolled her eyes, then turned away from him. “Is there a reason you’d like to learn it?”

“Erm…” She didn’t meet their eyes. “I’m afraid of the dark. I know that’s silly, but I was hoping that you could teach it to me so I could have a bit of light for my four-poster bed at night. The other girls aren’t very kind and…” she trailed off with a shrug.

“You can use my classroom, if you’d like,” Malfoy winked at Hermione like she’d already decided to help the girl.

And really, she supposed she had.

“What is this shite?” Malfoy levitated a stack of heavy books onto the desk in her private office. September had flown past, and they’d fallen into a bit of a routine. After dinner, she would go back to the library to put books away and close up. Malfoy would meet her at the end of the day, and they’d walk back to their rooms or see Neville or just sit in the library and chat.

“Nice to see you too, Malfoy.” Hermione looked at him with a bored expression. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t use such language in my library. I’m just about to close up, so if you can wait a few minutes while I usher the remaining students out?”

He scowled, ignoring her request. “Have you read these?”

Hermione read the titles he’d practically slammed down on her desk: _Hogwarts: A History, Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_.

A heavy weight grew in the pit of her stomach. Of course, she’d read them. Hermione had them practically memorized before her first year. However, she had a feeling she knew where he was going with this, and it was not going to be a friendly debate of any sort. In the last six years, those four titles had been re-released to include updated information about the Second Wizarding War, The Battle of Hogwarts, and Harry Potter. All four now included the Chamber of Secrets, the events in the Graveyard after the Triwizard Tournament, and the mess they’d made at the Ministry of Magic.

“Of course, I’ve read them.” she sat stiffly. “I had them all practically memorized before our first year. They’ve come in quite handy, particularly _Hogwarts: A History_ during our fourth year and--”

“Granger!” His scowl deepened. “You know very well what I’m talking about. Look at which edition they are. Have you read them recently?”

Hermione didn’t meet his gaze as she stood from her straight-backed chair and walked around her desk. “I need to close the library, Malfoy.”

He followed her as she strode through the stacks, rounding up students and practically pushing them through the door.

“What about these?” He levitated another stack of books onto a table in front of her the moment the last student had left. She had no idea where they’d come from.

_From Orphan to Hero_ and _The Battle of Hogwarts,_ and _How Harry Potter Defeated The Dark Lord: A Definitive Guide_ were just a few of the books in the stack. They were new releases that had been published over the years, Hermione recognized. She had read them. Of course, she had, which was precisely why she didn’t want to have this conversation.

“What do you want, Malfoy?” She asked, hands on her hips.

“Have you read--”

“Why does it matter?” Her patience was wearing thin.

Apparently, so was his. “Merlin, Granger, have you read the books or not?!”

“Yes!” Her voice carried through the large room muffled only slightly by the volumes of books around them. Her next words were quiet. “Okay? I’ve read them. That’s what I do, remember? Insufferable know-it-all. Swot extraordinaire. I know what’s in them. I know what they say.”

Malfoy’s jaw went slack. “But...Granger. That’s all they paint you as. Except for your dating Victor Krum, they’ve written about you like...It’s like you’re…”

“Draco.” It wasn’t often they used each other’s first names, but she needed his attention. She needed him to stop.

“Granger.” He stepped towards her. “There’s nothing about how you saved them from the Devil’s Snare. Nothing about how you taught Harry the _Accio_ spell because he wasn’t sharp enough to learn it in class. Nothing about how you started the DA. Nothing about--”

“How do you know all that?” She interrupted him.

“Neville, Hagrid, others. That doesn’t matter. They love you, Hermione. Really get them talking, and they won’t shut up about you! It’s all ‘Hermione can do this’ and ‘Hermione did that.’ But these books? They--”

“I know!” Her voice shook the shelves, and she could feel her magic sparking at her fingertips. She clenched her fists. “My appearance is described in detail, from my bushy hair to my buck teeth, until fourth year when I suddenly no longer looked like a beaver. My brains are discussed in relation to the amount of Harry’s and Ron’s homework that I corrected or flat out completed for them.”

“Granger--” Malfoy started, but she couldn’t stop now.

“But when they talk about the war, do you know when they discuss me? Do you know the only time I’m apparently worth more than a paragraph or two?” She was seething now, breathing heavy, her eyes alight with fire. “In the third edition of _The Effects of Dark Magic,_ there are five pages on me in the section about the _Cruciatus_ curse. There’s an entire chapter in _Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived_ about Malfoy Manor. That is what I’m remembered for, Malfoy. So when McGonagall and Hagrid and Flitwick and whoever else want to know why I’m here, why I’m the librarian at Hogwarts instead of working at the Ministry? That’s the bloody reason.”

He stared at her for a moment, apparently waiting to see if she was, in fact, done with her speech this time. Then, he broke into a smile. “I was beginning to think the Sorting Hat had been mistaken.”

She looked at him, bewildered. “What?”

“The Gryffindor who punched me in third year? The one who blackmailed a journalist? The one who rode a dragon out of Gringotts? I was beginning to think she was lost there somewhere, replaced by a Hufflepuff.”

She glared at him. “I’m angry, Malfoy. But it doesn’t matter, does it? It was always Harry’s story. Everything I did, I did to protect him, to get him through so that he could defeat Voldemort. It...it was never about me.”

“Do you really think that?” Malfoy looked pensive.

“Of course.”

“Well, then,” he _Accio_ ’d the books from her office, added them to the stack on the table, and levitated them in front him as he began to walk out. “Challenge accepted.”


	3. Hermione Granger & the Mountain Troll

**October 2004**

September bled into October with an ease that put a smile on Hermione’s face. Hermione, Malfoy, and Neville would have drinks in the greenhouses after dinner on Saturdays. Sometimes it was tea. Others, it was butterbeer or firewhisky. She would meet Hagrid in his hut on Sunday mornings. They would eat rock cakes, and then he would show her whatever semi-legal creature he was teaching that week.

During the week, Hermione shelved books and helped students find materials. It warmed her heart to see a group of fifth-year Hufflepuffs already studying for their O.W.Ls or a couple of second-years searching through the potions section to try and find a way out of classes that week.

All-in-all, she was greatly enjoying her time back at Hogwarts. The familiar routine and friendly faces were good for her soul, and the nightmares had even become few and far between. She had only woken up a handful of times in the last months to Malfoy’s soothing voice trying to bring her out of a nightmare.

Which brought Hermione to her current predicament: Draco Malfoy, who had changed quite a bit since they were in school, was still as infuriating as ever.

They were on their way back to their quarters on the second floor after she closed up the library one Wednesday evening. They were discussing the best way to get the juice out of a sopophorous bean when Malfoy abruptly changed the subject.

“So, what you’re telling me is--you and the wonder boys weren’t friends until after the incident with the mountain troll?”

Hermione sighed. This was not a new question, and frankly, she was tired of answering it.

She stopped walking and turned to look at him. “Yes, okay? We’ve been over this, Malfoy. They were right prats until that happened. While you and the other Slytherins were making comments about my blood status and tossing nasty looks in my direction, Harry and Ron were making fun of my love for school and magic. They made fun of my talent in charms. They called me a nightmare!”

She was breathing heavily now, her hand gripping her wand.

Malfoy simply looked at her as if considering something. Then, he motioned to something behind her. “This is where it happened, then?”

Hermione whirled around to find the door to the first-floor girls’ bathroom. The same washroom where Harry and Ron had fought the troll, where they’d saved her.

“Malfoy, what--”

“So, what happened?” He pushed the door open and walked into the room, beckoning her to follow him. “Quirrell ran into the Great Hall, announced there was a troll, and Dumbledore had the prefects take all the students to their respective houses.”

She almost wanted to laugh. Malfoy was walking around the room, idly twirling his wand in his hand and looking around as if he was on one of those detective shows her mother used to watch.

“Then...what was it I heard?” He continued. “You thought you could take it down by yourself? And they saved you?”

“And where did you hear that, Malfoy?” She avoided answering.

“Secrets cannot be kept at Hogwarts.” He turned to her then, fixing her with a stare. “So, what happened? Set the record straight, Granger. Judging by the look on your face, I’m wrong.”

Frustrated, Hermione ran her fingers through her hair. He wasn’t going to give up, so she might as well tell him.

“Do you remember when you challenged Harry to a duel so that you could get him in trouble?”

He scoffed. “We’ve already covered that I’m a prat, Granger. What does that have to do with--”

“Do you want the story or not?”

Malfoy nodded.

“Well, I was with them that night—me and Neville. I ended up helping us all evade Filch. And I’d thought...well, truthfully, I had thought that perhaps their minds had changed about me. Perhaps I wasn’t so awful anymore since I’d helped them.”

Hermione started to pace the room as she continued. “That Halloween, I overheard Ron tell Harry that I was a nightmare, that it was no wonder no one could stand me. It...hurt quite a lot, and I ran off crying. I was still in this bathroom when Quirrell ran into the Great Hall. Harry and Ron, they...I supposed they had heard that I was still upset and noticed that I wasn’t at the feast. And you know Harry, sort of runs off without thinking when someone needs saving.”

Malfoy snorted but didn’t interrupt her.

“Apparently, they noticed the troll in this bathroom and locked the door, thinking that would help. I don’t think they realized I was in here until they heard me scream…”

She trailed off, still looking around the room. It was repaired now, of course, but she could still see the smashed stalls and broken sinks in her mind. She could still feel the fear. It had been the first time she’d felt it that intensely, her heart pounding and blood rushing in her ears.

“They rushed in. I remember being terrified, though I suppose it hardly seems like anything compared to what we’ve all been through now. I just froze. I couldn’t run, I couldn’t move. All I could do was scream and watch it all unfold. Harry and Ron, though? They jumped into action without a second thought. Ron threw something at the troll, then Harry jumped on its back and rammed his wand up its nose.”

She was utterly lost in the moment now, her eyes glassy and staring into space. She could feel Malfoy’s eyes on her.

“He yelled at Ron to do something, anything. I was still so frozen with fear. And Ron? Just pointed his wand, levitated the troll’s club, and dropped on his head. When it finally fell, all I could do was ask if it was dead. Then Harry pulled his wand out of the troll’s nose, and the professors came running in.”

“Granger--” Malfoy started.

She looked at him, her eyes re-focusing to meet his eyes. “It was Snape, Quirrell, and McGonagall. When she asked what we’d all been thinking, she’d been looking at Harry and Ron. I thought that was very unfair, so I...I covered for them. I lied and told her the story you must have heard somewhere. They believed it because, really, Hermione Granger is a know-it-all, and of course, she would think she could take down a full-grown troll.”

Hermione finished her story, smiling sadly. “Does that answer your question?”

“So that was it? Attached at the hip ever since?”

She nodded. “There are some things you can’t share without ending up liking each other, and knocking out a twelve-foot mountain troll is one of them.”

He considered her for a moment. “Okay.”

They didn’t talk as they walked back to their rooms.

They didn’t speak for a few days.

In fact, the only times Hermione even saw Malfoy over the next weeks was at meals and at night, when he would comfort her after a nightmare.

So on October 31st, when he met her outside the library as she was closing up early, she couldn’t hide her shock.

“Malfoy, what--”

“Follow me,” he said as he turned and strode down the hallway towards the stairs.

“But the Great Hall is that way,” Hermione pointed behind them as if he didn’t know. “And tonight’s the Halloween feast. McGonagall will be expecting us.”

“She isn’t.” His only response. He was still moving quickly as he started up the stairs.

“Malfoy!” She yelled, still at the base of the stairwell.

He turned to look at her. “Do you trust me, Hermione?”

Her eyes widened. That was the first time Malfoy had ever used her first name. Countless conversations with Neville and all those nights he’d held her as she cried herself back to sleep, and he had never used her first name. They were Malfoy and Granger, always had been.

She swallowed drily. “Yes.”

Malfoy just nodded and motioned for her to continue following him.

She wasn’t lying. She did trust him. The man in front of her wasn’t the boy she’d known years ago, but they hadn’t spoken much in the last two weeks, and surely they were to be at the Halloween Feast. Where could he be taking her?

Hermione was pulled from her thoughts when he abruptly stopped walking. Looking around, she noticed that they were in a corridor on the third floor, and the door in front of them was…

“Malfoy, if this is your idea of a joke--”

“It’s not.” He rushed to reassure her.

She eyed the door skeptically. “Then, why are we here?”

He grinned. “You promised to tell me the story of the time you petrified Neville.”

“I could have told you that over tea, or--”

“Ah,” he interrupted her again. “But petrifying Neville is just the beginning of the real story, isn’t it?”

Hermione stayed silent for a moment, glaring at him. It must have been Neville. Malfoy must have asked Neville what happened.

Letting out a deep sigh, she finally spoke. “Neville tried to stop us as we were leaving the Common Room.”

“‘It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends.’” Malfoy quoted Dumbledore with a nod. “So that’s why Neville got those ten house points?”

Shocked, she nodded. “Yes.”

“So, then what? You snuck down here, barged in, and saved the world?”

“The door was locked, you dolt. I used _Alohomora_ to get in.”

He looked surprised that she’d spoken. “Half our class couldn’t master that spell!”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you really questioning my ability to master a spell, Malfoy?”

“Of course not,” he corrected.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Then we went in and--”

“Oh, no, Granger. We’re going in there.”

“We’re what?”

Malfoy gestured to the heavy wooden door, then pointed his wand and unlocked it before she could stop him. “ _Alohomora_.” 

Fluffy was not in the large, cavernous room, of course, but Hermione was still rather surprised to see it empty.

“It’s...different than I imagined.” He mused.

“This is just the first room,” Hermione replied despondently, gesturing to the trap door across the room. “Fluffy was in here. He was Hagrid’s contribution to the obstacles.”

“Fluffy?”

Hermione nodded. “A three-headed dog.” She could still smell the foul odor, still feel the hot breath on her face, still hear the soft snores and ferocious barks.

“You, Potter, and the Weasel got past a three-headed dog?” He sounded skeptical.

“You know all this already, Malfoy. There are no secrets at Hogwarts.”

“And yet,” he continued. “I’m still asking.”

He was infuriating. She sighed. “Fine. Yes, we got past Fluffy. Music lulls him to sleep, so Harry played a small flute to get him to sleep. After Harry went down the trap door, I played it while Ron went down.”

“So you were the last one to go down? They left you up here with...with Fluffy?” He looked dumbstruck.

She walked over to the Trap door and pulled it open. “Harry wanted to make sure that it wasn’t dangerous down there. Ron, of course, went second. I followed third.”

He nodded, a pensive look crossing his face.

“I’m going to assume you want to continue down the rabbit hole, so to speak?”

Again, he nodded. “After you, Granger.”

Unease filled her as she sat down on the edge of the hole and slid down into the darkness.

Hermione was already standing beneath the deadly plant when Malfoy fell through.

“Devil’s Snare?” He looked up at the entwined vines. “Sprout’s doing, I suppose?”

She nodded. “I figured out what it was first.”

“Because you pay attention in class.”

“Of course.” A small smile graced her lips. “When I stopped struggling, I fell right through. Harry listened to me and did the same. But Ron…”

“The Weasel wouldn’t stop moving, so the plant kept attacking him.” He paused. “You used light and heat, didn’t you?”

“I’m impressed, Malfoy. You pay attention in class as well. Yes, I had to use _Fiamma Livido_ to get him out. Although it’s funny. In my panic, I was distraught at not having wood. Ron actually had to remind me that I’m a witch.”

Malfoy snorted. “Top of our class, and you fold under pressure.”

She glared at him. “I’ve improved; thank you very much.”

“You certainly have, Granger.” His compliment caught her off guard. It wasn’t that he hadn’t said nice things in the last two months, but for some reason, this statement felt different.

Hermione cleared her throat and started towards the door at the end of a dark corridor. “Flitwick’s obstacle is next.”

“I can’t believe you got on a broomstick and flew around a room while a bunch of flying keys attacked you.” Malfoy laughed as they moved onto the next room. “Is that the last time you flew?”

Hermione remembered riding on Buckbeak’s back to get Sirius. Sitting on the back of an invisible Thestral on their way to the Ministry. Gripping around Kingsley’s middle on the back of a Thestral she definitely could see. Holding on to the Dragon as it flew over Britain.

But she couldn’t tell him that. Instead, she lied. “Until the Battle of Hogwarts, yes.”

His eyes narrowed for a moment as if detecting her lie, but he didn’t call her bluff. He just looked away and motioned around the room. “So, this room is…?”

As he said it, fires lit around the perimeter of the room, illuminating the space.

It looked like a battleground and, Hermione thought, it was in a way. Chess is a simulation of war. Bishops and Pawns lie in scattered pieces.

“McGonagall’s trial.” She stated, moving around the room. She sincerely hoped the pieces wouldn’t stop them from continuing. Thankfully, nothing moved.

“Chess?” Malfoy sounded confused.

“Wizard’s Chess.”

“It’s life-sized.”

Hermione gave him a pointed look. “Obviously.”

“Surely that’s way more dangerous than a plant or murderous keys or--”

“Ron handled this obstacle.” She cut him off.

Malfoy looked impressed. “He did?”

She nodded and continued walking around the room. “He’s surprisingly skilled. I’m shite at it, and Harry’s no good either.”

They stood in silence for a moment. Hermione looked at Ron’s Black Knight, whose head still lay in the center of the board. “Ron sacrificed himself. He played as the Black Knight. Moved so that the White Queen could take him. Harry, a Bishop, moved in and checkmated the White King.”

“Really?”

Hermione nodded again, a lump in her throat. “He was knocked out, hurt pretty badly. We...we had to leave him here while Harry and I went into the next room.”

Taking one last look at the chessboard, Hermione turned and went through the door to the test. At least this would be over soon.

“Potions,” Malfoy stated as they walked into the small chamber and saw the bottles still lined on the tables. “This must be Snape’s.”

“It was just a logic puzzle, really. Nothing like brewing a complicated potion or anything.” She responded, picking up the piece of parchment still lying next to the row of bottles and handing it to Malfoy.

“This is brilliant, Granger.” He commented. “Leave it to Snape to create a logic puzzle.”

Hermione laughed half-heartedly. “It is brilliant, yes. A lot of wizards--”

“Don’t have an ounce of logic.” He finished for her. “He was always saying that when I was younger when Mother would have him over to help me control my magic.”

The thought of Snape attempting to teach a very young Malfoy how to control his magic was a rather interesting image. “Anyway, once I’d figured it out, Harry went forward and met Quirrell and Voldemort. I went back, got Ron, and...well. I suppose everyone knows the rest.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, still inspecting the riddle. “So, Harry drank that one to move forward.” He pointed to one bottle, then another, “and you drank that one to go back.”

“Well, yes.” Hermione straightened. “That’s it, then. That’s the story.”

They stood there for a few long minutes. It was Malfoy who spoke first. “Is it?”

“What?”

“Is that the story? Just like that?”

“Of course, it is. The first real harrowing trial of my life summed up in a few sentences.” The words came out sarcastically, soaked in venom

Malfoy shifted his stance, folding his arms across his chest. “Just like those books did?”

“We were first years, Malfoy! I was twelve years old, and Harry and Ron depended on me. Their lives hung in the balance, and my only weapon was my brain.” She was breathing heavily again, practically fuming. “If I didn’t pay attention in Herbology, Ron would have been strangled to death! If I hadn’t been able to work out the puzzle, I could have poisoned Harry!”

“But you didn’t,” he pointed out.

“Of course, I didn’t! Because my brains are all I have! Harry was terrified before he went forward to meet Voldemort. We both were, but I had to convince him that it would be okay. Do you know why?”

Malfoy murmured a quiet, “Why?”

“Because I learned something that night. I learned that there is more to life than books and cleverness! There’s...there’s friendship and bravery and loyalty!”

He looked at her with a strained expression on his face, then reached his hand out to her. When she placed her hand in his, they traced their steps back through the rooms and up into the third-floor corridor.

“Thank you, Hermione,” Malfoy murmured when they exited Fluffy’s room. “I’m glad you told me the whole story.”

When Hermione spoke this time, it was barely above a whisper. “I don’t know why you wanted to know, Malfoy, and I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish. But this wasn’t my story, not really. It was Harry’s. It’s always been Harry’s story.”

It wasn’t until she reached her quarters, alone, that the tears began to fall in earnest. She cried silently as she readied herself for bed and crawled beneath the blankets. She cried for her twelve-year-old self, for her loss of innocence. She cried for Ron’s loyalty. She cried for Harry’s bravery.

Hermione cried until she had no tears left, and she fell into a dreamless sleep.


	4. Hermione Granger & the Dirty Blood

**November 2004**

November brought a cold so bitter that it settled into Hermione’s bones the moment she stepped outside. It seemed sudden, the shift in weather, but she supposed they’d been lucky that October had been so mild.

She was walking the familiar path from the quidditch pitch to the castle after the Ravenclaw/Slytherin match when a small group of students caught up to her. Hermione looked longingly at the castle. She’d been so close to warmth.

“Madam Granger?”

Hermione turned to see a tall, willowy Hufflepuff. The cold had tinged her dark skin with pink, but her eyes were glowing with fire. “Yes?”

“My name is Kiama Thorpe,” she introduced herself, then gestured to the three students around her. “This is Rosa Doss, Kirsty McGinnis, and Andrew Rawley. We’re second years.”

“Good afternoon,” Hermione nodded to each of them in turn. “What can I do for you?”

“We were hoping you’d tutor us.” She said it so matter-of-factly. If the girl hadn’t been wearing canary yellow, Hermione would have thought her a Gryffindor.

“Have you spoken with your professors? I’m sure they’d be willing to answer any questions you may have.”

“If we didn’t get it the first four times they explained it, I’m not sure why we’d get it now.” Kirsty, wearing green, muttered under her breath. Kiama elbowed her.

“We’re asking you because we all need help with different spells. And,” she waved a hand over her shoulder. “It’s common knowledge that there’s not a spell you can’t do.”

Hermione looked up, eyes widening as she saw where the student had pointed. Hagrid and Malfoy stood about 100 metres away with grins on their faces. Hagrid, at least, had the decency to blush when she scowled at them.

She looked back at the students. “I’m already meeting with another student on Wednesday evenings. Why don’t you join us? Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom at 8:15 in the evening.”

They nodded enthusiastically and said their thanks. As they ran off towards the castle, Hermione turned towards where Hagrid and Malfoy turned. Just as she was about to head their way, however, Professor McGonagall appeared next to her.

“Miss Granger! I need you in my office at once.” She sounded winded. When she saw the direction Hermione had been looking, she added. “You might as well bring Mr. Malfoy with you.”

Irrational as it was, Hermione felt about twelve years old again as they stood in front of McGonagall’s desk.

"Have a seat, the both of you," the Headmistress indicated to the two seats next to them heaved a heavy sigh. “Would you like to tell me anything about the third-floor corridor?”

Hermione froze. How could she possibly know about that? “Professor, how--”

“First of all, even if I didn’t already know, you just admitted guilt. I would have thought that you were smarter than to fall into a trap like that, given your history with Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley.”

Malfoy muttered something about “sodding Gryffindors,” and Hermione blushed.

McGonagall continued, “however, something has happened, and I know that it had to be you two.”

Shocked, Hermione looked to Malfoy, who looked interested, but not surprised. “But professor, why would it just be the two of us? Surely others know about the corridor. What Harry accomplished is in the updated edition of _Hogwarts: A History_.”

Malfoy sneered. “What _Potter_ accomplished?”

The headmistress shot him a glare as she sat down at her desk. “The door is under a Notice-Me-Not charm. While that textbook certainly describes the incident, it does not give details of where the entrance is. Therefore, only those who were here at the time would have the ability to see it. Currently, that means me, Argus, Hagrid, Filius, Aurora Sinistra, Mr. Longbottom, and the two of you.”

Rubbing her temples, Hermione leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. “We went on Halloween after hours. Malfoy was rather insistent. So, we went down, and I walked us through what happened. But, professor, I still don’t understand. Why does it matter? There’s no danger anymore.”

“They’re gone now,” was McGonagall’s direct response.

“What?” Hermione bolted upright, eyes wide.

“The rooms, the door. Completely gone.”

“But...But,” she stumbled to find the right words through her surprise. “You said that Hogwarts wouldn’t be renovated. You said that you couldn’t remove those places.”

“Miss Granger, I believe what I said is that the castle would not move on if it had unfinished business.” McGonagall looked at Malfoy as she finished speaking.

He shrugged, “I had a hunch.”

“A hunch?” Hermione asked. She looked between McGonagall and Malfoy, neither of whom seemed particularly shocked or concerned by this series of events.

“I had a theory about your nightmares.” He paused. “I thought that, if you could go through it again, talk it out and whatnot, then the dreams might go away. It’s a fortunate accident that we assisted in aiding the castle in its...rehabilitation as well.”

McGonagall was giving Malfoy an odd look. Malfoy shook his head almost imperceptibly, but Hermione saw it. She scowled. “Rehabilitation? Let me guess, professor. You want us to continue? What’s next, getting rid of the Chamber of Secrets? The Shrieking Shack? Shall find someone to petrify me, or will you be providing a basilisk?”

No one spoke. Professor McGonagall looked unsure, which Hermione couldn’t recall ever happening before. At their silence, though, her scowl deepened. “Fine.”

Hermione stood and stormed out of the Headmistress’s office, down the steps past the Gargoyle, and out into the hall. She was furious. She was angry with McGonagall and Malfoy for bringing up things that belonged in the past, with Neville and Hagrid for telling Malfoy the stories.

And if she were honest, she was angry with herself for not seeing it to begin with.

Though she heard footsteps behind her, Hermione didn’t stop until she was through the doorway of her living quarters. He’d followed her inside.

She whirled around to face Malfoy. “You have no right--”

“Granger, I--”

But she cut him off with a look. “What do you and McGonagall want me to do, exactly? I’ve been petrified and bullied in this castle. I’ve faced a werewolf and a sociopathic ministry official. I’ve thrown hexes and curses and barely made it out alive. So, I’m to relive the worst moments of my life? For what? So the castle can recover from the war? I’ve moved on, Malfoy. I’ve made peace with everything. You all should, too.”

“But you haven’t,” Malfoy said quietly, his hands in his pockets. “You haven’t moved on. You scream in your sleep nearly every night. You cry out for your friends and beg not to be tortured. You shed tears for the dead. It’s been over six years since the war ended, and you haven’t made peace with any of this.”

Hermione looked at him then, really looked at him. He seemed...sincere? But that wasn’t right. It wasn’t an emotion she thought him capable of. Still, it didn’t soften her anger.

When she just glared at him instead of responding, he turned to walk away. He paused in the doorway, “I’ll be here when you’re ready, Granger.”

And then he was gone.

The next two weeks passed excruciatingly slowly. Hermione was irritable, snapping at students in a manner far too reminiscent of Madam Pince. Her nightmares were growing increasingly vivid: she was a cat being chased by a basilisk, a rat running from a werewolf. 

By the end of November, Hermione was tired. She was tired of not sleeping, tired of the students skirting around her out of fear, tired of everything. It was this bone-deep exhaustion that had her knocking on Malfoy’s door late on a Wednesday night.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” The words were out of her mouth as soon as he opened the door.

“Granger?” He looked surprised, which she supposed was warranted. She had avoided him for the last few weeks.

“I would imagine that you, of all people, wouldn’t want me to relive the moments in this castle.”

“You would be surprised at the things I want,” his gaze settled on hers. “It needs to happen, Granger.”

It did need to happen. That was the conclusion she had come to as well. The longer she was in the castle, the worse her nightmares became--except now they no longer included mountain trolls and life-sized chess pieces. “Follow me.”

She walked away, knowing he wouldn’t be far behind.

Neither of them spoke until they reached the girl’s bathroom on the second floor.

“Since we started with our first year, I thought it made the most sense to go chronologically,” Hermione stated as they entered the washroom. “For me, it starts here.”

“Ah, but that’s not really true, is it?” Malfoy was strolling around the room, looking at their surroundings. “It started on the Quidditch pitch.”

Hermione stilled. His tone was solemn, containing none of the teasing lilt he often had now.

“Malfoy--”

“It needs to happen, Granger,” he repeated his earlier statement. “It’s important, I think. For the both of us.”

“Fine.” She sighed heavily and leaned against a wall. “It started on the Quidditch pitch.”

When she didn’t continue, he prompted her. “Were you there watching Potter practice? I was under the impression you hated Quidditch.”

“I don’t hate it, per se. It’s just not something I’m interested in,” she closed her eyes, remembering that early morning. “Harry and Ron were my best friends, so I went with them that time. I brought a book with me, I think.”

“Not surprising.” She heard him say.

“They were about the start practice when--”

“When the Slytherin team showed up.”

She nodded, refusing to open her eyes. Hermione didn’t want to remember this day. She didn’t want to think about the Malfoy of the past that had bullied her or wished her dead. She wanted to think about the man who lived next to her, who held her through the nightmares.

“As I recall,” he spoke again. “You were quite protective of your friends.”

“Have you forgotten the troll incident? They saved my life.”

“Hmm.” He made a non-committal noise. 

“You…” No, she couldn’t tell it like that. She couldn’t personalize it. “The Slytherin team came onto the field, so Ron and I rushed down to see what was happening. We knew Harry was likely to do something irrational.”

“Potter? That doesn’t sound like him.” He must have been smirking. She could hear it in his voice, even though she couldn’t see it.

“They were rather rude. Marching in like they owned the place. I think they just wanted to show off their new seeker.” She was silent for a moment. “Anyway, words were exchanged and--”

“And I called you a ‘filthy little mudblood.’”

Her eyes snapped open, and she found him standing in front of her, though he wasn’t looking at her.

“Yes…I didn’t actually know what it meant. That was the first time I’d heard the slur. Ron and Hagrid had to explain to Harry and me.” She thought back to her interaction with the students at the beginning of the month. “As you apparently know by now, Hagrid was very kind. He assured us that it was a ridiculous pureblood ideal, that it didn’t mean anything.”

“Because they haven’t invented a spell our Hermione can’t do.” Malfoy quoted.

They were quiet for a few minutes. She rubbed the scar on her forearm. The permanent reminder from Bellatrix was undoubtedly traumatic but hearing the slur for the first time had hurt more than she would ever admit. For all the bullying she had ever received, for all the comments and slurs from Death Eaters, that moment all those years ago had been the worst.

“We went to a deathday party on Halloween.”

“A...what?”

“Nearly Headless Nick invited us to a party to celebrate the day he died. It was...quite interesting.”

“You went to a party, surrounded by ghosts, to celebrate someone’s death?”

“We did, and on our way back to Gryffindor Tower, we found Mrs. Norris.” Hermione moved from the wall and strolled around the room. “Which brings us to this room.”

“Granger…” Malfoy sounded frustrated. “I know the entrance to the Chamber of Secrets is in here. I’ve read _How Harry Potter Defeated The Dark Lord: A Definitive Guide_ , remember? You’re skipping things.”

She ignored him. “‘The Chamber of Secrets has been opened. Enemies of the Heir, Beware.’ That’s what the wall said, correct?”

Malfoy sighed, still clearly frustrated. “Yes.”

“And you said…”

“I said that the mudbloods would be next.” His answer was quiet.

“Harry, Ron, and I thought that you might be the Heir of Slytherin.”

“I know, Granger. That much is in the book _Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived_. The two wonder boys took polyjuice potion to pose as Crabbe and Goyle.”

“Who do you think brewed the polyjuice potion?”

Malfoy froze. “That’s...that’s a N.E.W.T-level potion. Even I couldn’t brew it in sixth year. I had to steal it from Slughorn. Everyone figures Potter stole it from Snape.”

Hermione shrugged. “We tricked Lockhart into letting us into the Restricted Section of the library. I brewed it, and it was finished over the holiday break, and well, you know the rest.”

“No.” He said suddenly. “That can’t be it. You wouldn’t have let them go off on their own. Why didn’t you drink the polyjuice, as well?”

“I did.”

“But only two of you spoke to me that night.”

“Because polyjuice was designed for human transformation only.” She flushed with embarrassment. “I accidentally grabbed a cat hair from Millicent Bulstrode instead of her hair. I hid in the stall while the boys spoke with you.”

Malfoy looked at her for a moment, stunned, before he burst out laughing.

Hermione just groaned, then turned to leave. “Come on. One more stop.”

Given the time of night, the hospital wing was dark when they entered the large room. Hermione’s breath hitched as she walked further in. She had spent a lot of time in the cavernous space, both in a bed and beside it. She’d had Madam Pomfrey pour potions down her throat, and she’d held the hand of a dear friend while they recovered.

“I figured out what was happening,” Hermione said quietly, not wanting to bring Madam Pomfrey out of her rooms. “A basilisk’s stare will only kill you if you look it directly in the eyes. So, I tested my theory in a mirror.”

“You let yourself be petrified? On purpose?” Malfoy looked incredulous. “Why?”

“I had to know I was right. And I was.”

“But if you were petrified, how on earth did Potter and Weasley figure it out?”

“I had a note in my hand. They found it when they came to visit me here.” She gestured to the rows of beds. “Harry’s not stupid. He’s just…”

“An idiot,” Malfoy smirked.

“Anyway, I spent a lot of time here that year, between turning into a cat and being petrified. As much as I loved going to class, the hospital wing became a refuge of sorts. I ended up visiting often after that, even when I didn’t have to. Madam Pomfrey didn’t tease me when I asked questions about her methods. She didn’t look at me with disdain or hate the fact that I’m muggle-born.”

“Granger...I…Hermione...” Malfoy trailed off. He looked at the floor for a moment before meeting her eyes. She could see something like regret reflected in his gaze. “I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I was a snot kid who didn’t know any better. I was so used to being the best at everything, and in walks this girl with big bushy hair and muggle parents who is better than me. At everything. And my father is spouting all this shite about blood status and blood traitors, and I idolized him so…”

Hermione just nodded. “We should get going then. It’s late, and we both have early mornings tomorrow.”

That night, when he woke her up from a nightmare, she didn’t mention a basilisk--because it hadn’t been there.


	5. Hermione Granger & the Time-Turner

**December 2004**

December had been quiet. Snow blanketed the grounds, and there was a low buzz of excitement for the upcoming holidays. Still, December had been calm, relaxing almost.

So Hermione should have expected it when a student raised his hand at the end of their tutoring session. She had just finished reviewing the Cheering Charm with a group of third years when the room went quiet with the boy’s question.

“Madam Granger? Is it true you’ve used a time-turner?”

She stilled for a moment, then straightened. The fifteen or so students in the tutoring group were all staring at her with wide eyes.

“Well, yes. As I’m sure you’ve read the updated edition of _Modern Magical History_ for your classes,” Hermione gave them all a pointed look. “You would know that Harry Potter used a time-turner in his third year to save Sirius Black and a Hippogriff named Buckbeak.”

“But, you were there!” A voice chimed in. The small Gryffindor girl rarely spoke, so her outburst shocked Hermione.

She nodded haltingly. “Technically, yes. Harry and I saved two lives that night. Really, though, it was Harry who saved us all that night when a dementor attacked.”

“What she’s not telling you is that Mr. Potter was only able to accomplish that because Madam Granger here already had the time-turner in her possession. She’d been using it all year to take twice as many classes as the rest of us.”

It was Malfoy. Of course, it was Malfoy. Why did he keep doing that?

The students gasped, heads swiveling from Hermione to Malfoy and back again. A Hufflepuff spoke up, “Really?”

“Absolutely,” Malfoy confirmed, walking further into the room.

Choruses of “wow” and “wicked” rippled across the students.

“That’s it for tonight,” Hermione effectively ended the conversation. “You all need to go back to your dorms and pack for the holidays. The Hogwarts Express won’t wait for you if you’re late in the morning.”

As the students filed out, she glared at Malfoy. He just smirked at her. Oh, she was going to hex him. But first, she had to figure out how he knew so much.

She uttered the same vow to herself the next day at breakfast when a small brown owl crash-landed in front of her with a small parcel tied to its leg. 

“Hello Pigwidgeon,” Hermione handed him a small piece of bacon and untied the parcel from the owl’s leg.

Given that she would be spending Christmas at The Burrow, she wasn’t sure why Ron would be sending her anything now. Christmas was only a few days away, and it wasn’t like Ron or Harry to send mail when they would see her so soon. Pigwidgeon flew away without waiting for a reply, only stuttering in the air twice as he exited the Great Hall. Opening it carefully, Hermione was surprised to see that the envelope contained just two items.

The first was a rather large bit of parchment that looked vaguely familiar.

The second item in the parcel was a note written on muggle notebook paper.

_Hermione-_

_When Fred and George gave this to me, they said that my need was greater than theirs. It’s your turn._

_-Harry_

Oh no. No. No, he did not.

Hermione stood abruptly, nearly knocking over her goblet of pumpkin juice. The sudden movement drew the eyes of the staff and the few students who hadn’t left for the train, but she didn’t care.

Running out of the Great Hall, she could hear a concerned McGonagall calling her name, but she didn’t turn back.

She was going to hex Malfoy. Then she was going to hex Harry. Then, if she was still feeling outraged, she’d confront McGonagall, who was clearly in on this as well. 

This wasn’t something she wanted to relive. Third year feels like the beginning of the end. Perhaps not for Harry, but for her. It was the year she spent so much time alone, the year she realized that even time travel couldn’t change everything.

Third year was the year she learned that friendship wasn’t always a positive experience.

It wasn’t until she stood in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady that Hermione realized she was at Gryffindor Tower instead of her quarters on the lower floor. Since all staff knew the dormitory passwords, she had no trouble entering the Common Room through the portrait hole.

It was just like she’d remembered, of course. It wasn’t as if she had expected it to change, but the sight of the old squashy armchairs and sturdy but rundown tables still sent a shiver through her.

Perching on the edge of the couch in front of the fire, she carefully laid the parchment on the table. It looked just like it had six and a half years ago. Someone must have put a protection charm on it to ensure it didn’t wither or fray with time.

Hermione sighed when she heard the portrait swing open and shut. She knew it was Malfoy. Hell, he had probably orchestrated the whole thing.

“You left this behind,” he dropped Harry’s letter, and it fluttered onto the table. 

“How did you find me?”

He shrugged. “While I may be a prat, I’ve gotten fairly good at reading people. And I know you, Granger. You’re clearly upset, so you would head to a place you felt safe in.”

She remained silent.

Malfoy sat beside her. “What does he mean ‘it’s your turn”?”

“You don’t know?”

“I will admit to contacting Potter, but I simply asked him if anything from our third year would be particularly important for our cause. Frankly, I’m rather irritated that all he sent was a spare bit of parchment.”

Hermione continued to look at him. She didn’t want to believe him. She wanted to think that he was being cruel and spiteful, but she knew that Harry would never help him if his motives were nefarious.

She turned to face the table, pulled out her wand, and tapped the parchment. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.”

Ink bled onto the page. As she stared at it, she felt Malfoy move closer to her to get a better look.

_Messrs. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs_

_Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present_

_THE MARAUDER’S MAP_

“ _The Marauder’s Map_ ,” Malfoy read aloud.

Hermione pointed to Gryffindor tower, where their names sat in the Common Room. “It shows every detail of the castle and who is inside it, except for the Room of Requirement because it’s technically unplottable. Polyjuice and other magical transformations or disguises can’t trick the map. It was quite the help over the years.”

“Quite the help?” he paused, incredulous. “Are you kidding me? This is genius! Who are Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs?”

She sighed and continued to watch the staff and a handful of students move about the castle. The map wasn’t in any of the books that had been published since the war. Harry hadn’t wanted that kind of information out. Consequently, the aliases of its creators had remained a secret as well. Hermione wasn’t sure how Harry had pulled that off. Perhaps being The Boy Who Lived had more pull than she initially thought.

“Remus Lupin was Moony, for obvious reasons. Padfoot was Sirius Black. He was an unregistered canine animagus. Although you already knew that as I recall. James Potter was Prongs. He was an unregistered animagus as well, a stag.” She paused.

“And Wormtail?”

“I believe you were acquainted with Peter Pettigrew.”

“Ah,” was all he said in acknowledgment.

“Anyway, they created the map, but Filch confiscated it at some point. Fred and George nicked it, then gave it to Harry our third year.” She shrugged. “The rest is history.”

“No wonder the three of you got away with so much. Between this map and the invisibility cloak, you were nearly invincible.” She could tell he was trying to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

“Malfoy--” she turned to face him but found that he was still leaning over her to get a better look at the map...except he wasn’t looking at the map any longer. He was looking at her.

He glanced down at her lips, then met her eyes again. “Hermione...”

She turned to face the table again, hoping he couldn’t see her cheeks flush with embarrassment. “I’ll meet you on the grounds after lunch. 2 o’clock.”

He shifted, moving away from her. “How will I find you?”

“Mischief managed.” Hermione tapped the map with her wand, stood, and exited Gryffindor Tower.

She knew she wouldn’t eat lunch. She couldn’t. Instead, Hermione went to her quarters, put on her warmest clothes, and went out to the grounds. After conjuring a small stool, she sat and looked over the grounds.

“ _Fiamma Livido_ ,” she murmured, conjuring the small blue flame and casting an additional warming charm around herself.

From her perch, she could see Hagrid’s hut and the Quidditch pitch behind it. The Forbidden Forest sat in the distance as well. To her left, the Whomping Willow still stood tall.

The events of first and second year almost paled compared to the rest of her years at Hogwarts. Third year was when it really hit Hermione. Harry would surely disagree. His catalyst was most likely the graveyard after the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Ron would probably say it was the battle at the Ministry. But for Hermione? It was the moment McGonagall handed her the time-turner.

“You know. You slapped me for the first time on those steps right over there.”

Hermione looked up to find Malfoy. She must have been lost in the memories for much longer than she thought. It had been hours since breakfast. “For the first time? I recall only slapping you once.”

He shrugged. “I figure it’s likely to happen again at some point in our friendship.”

She stood and made the chair and flame disappear. May as well get this over with. “How much do you know already?”

“Only Potter’s side of the story in _From Orphan to Hero_.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Nearly five months and you’re going to pretend like you haven’t read _Ronald Billius Weasley: An Autobiography_?”

“Okay, fine.” He scowled. “I read that rubbish, but I know it’s not completely accurate.”

He was not wrong. Ron may be her friend, but his account of everything that happened included a fair bit of rubbish.

Hermione rubbed her temples. “It won’t change anything. What happened in our third year was only the beginning. It all comes back, just like the Chamber of Secrets. Considering McGonagall hasn’t called us into her office again, I must be correct. The Chamber, the Shack, the Willow. It all comes back around.”

“But you said it’s the beginning.”

Of course, that’s the phrase he would pick up on. “I just meant that these places have more to them than this. So if I skip this year, it won’t matter. It’s the castle we’re worried about anyway, remember?”

“But it will matter, Granger. You know that.”

She remained silent, not bothering to respond. He was right, of course—the bloody git.

He took a step towards her. “Granger.”

“The Shrieking Shack.” She said quietly. “It’s not where it started, because really it started on the train with the dementors. And it’s not really where that year ended, because I’m not sure that third year was really wrapped up in a nice neat bow, at least for me. But...the Shrieking Shack is important.”

Malfoy nodded and gestured for her to lead them to the Whomping Willow.

Hermione took deep breaths as they crawled out of the small passageway, into the decrepit shack, and up the stairs. Neither of them said a word until they entered the dingy bedroom.

“We were on our way back from Hagrid’s when this big black dog dragged Ron away and…” as she recounted the story, she started to pace. Malfoy, as usual, stood with his hands in his pockets and just listened quietly.

“...we arrived back at the hospital wing just in time. Snape was so upset that Sirius was gone. They were going to give him an Order of Merlin for everything, but he lost that chance when Sirius was no longer in the tower.”

He looked at her a moment as if he was trying to suss out the truth in her words. “Is that the whole story, Granger?”

“Of course, it is,” she snapped. “You’ve read the books, and you know I wouldn’t lie about--”

“I’m not accusing you of lying. You gave what seems to be a very accurate account of that night if Potter’s and Weasley’s tales are anything to go by. However, you recited it like you were giving the bloody textbook’s definition of a Potion in class. This is for you, Granger, for--” He cut himself off. “I want to know your story, alright?”

She scowled at him. She could feel her anger building. Her magic was coursing through her, and she could practically feel it sparking at her fingertips.

“You want to know how _I_ felt that year, Malfoy? Fine. I was completely and utterly alone for most of it. Harry and Ron stopped speaking to me for a month because I told McGonagall about the Firebolt. Between that and the time-turner and all my classes? I was on my own. I spent all my time doing classwork or researching how to stop Buckbeak from getting executed. I had _no one_. I had _no help_. They only started speaking to me again once McGonagall gave it back to him. I did it because I cared for him, and he was only willing to speak to me once he had it back. Ron spent weeks at a time being a complete prat because my cat kept attacking his rat. Well guess what! His rat was bloody Peter Pettigrew!”

She was breathing heavily now, tears in her eyes. Malfoy, thankfully, didn’t try to stop her tirade.

“Do you know what I learned that night? Professor Lupin may have called me the Cleverest Witch of my Age that night, but I learned something for the first time right here in this shack. I learned about friendship. I learned that it’s not enough sometimes. Pettigrew betrayed his friends, and for what? For power? For someone who made all these grand promises? And then here’s Sirius and Lupin. Who were willing to risk Azkaban just to avenge their friends, Harry’s parents.”

The tears were falling now.

“And I remember thinking that I wasn’t sure Harry and Ron would do that for me. I remember thinking that--if something happened to me-- they might very well be upset, but they wouldn’t risk Azkaban to avenge my death. Not when they kept treating me the way they did.”

She sobbed. Malfoy wrapped his arms around her.

Hermione was silent for a moment as the tears subsided. She hiccupped one last time before she spoke again. “That was the year I learned that I was just the brains. They wanted me around to do their homework or to save the day with research or an advanced spell. But really, I was just the third wheel in their friendship. We weren’t like Moony, Padfoot, and Prongs. The books are right, Malfoy.”

“I think you’d be surprised, Hermione.” He murmured against the top of her head. “I think you’d be surprised.”


	6. Hermione Granger & the Department of Mysteries

**January 2005**

Neville had grown a lot from the small awkward boy she first met on the train. She’d seen him duel with Death Eaters. She’d seen him run alongside Professor Sprout, preparing to throw mandrakes at the enemy. She’d seen him behead a snake and comfort classmates after battle.

But she’d never seen him drunk. And Neville after splitting a bottle a firewhisky was a sight to behold.

“I’m telling you!” He exclaimed, waving his glass in the air. They were sitting in his office, celebrating the last night of freedom before the students returned for spring term. “It took me a week to work up the courage to ask her to the ball, and it wasn’t even romantic! I knew we would just go as friends.”

Hermione blushed. “Oh, Neville. You know I would have loved to go with you.”

“I know, Hermione. I should have known that a witch like you would have a date already. You’re pretty and powerful.”

“That she is, Longbottom. That she is.” Malfoy smirked and raised his glass in a toast.

“You’re both drunk.” She tried to scold them, though she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face.

“True,” Neville agreed. “But we’re still correct. As your friend, it’s my duty to inform you that you looked great that night. Everyone was jealous of you.”

“Only because I was there with Victor.”

“Not true.” Malfoy chimed in. “Pansy nearly had steam coming out of her ears because you looked better than she did.”

“See? If you hadn’t been so envied that night, you never would have received all that ridiculous hate mail. And,” Neville set his glass down on his desk. “Having been on the receiving end of your _petrificus totalus_ in first year, I already knew you were powerful, which is perhaps even more attractive than anything else.”

Another shock for the night. She’d never heard him talk like this. Neville was certainly no longer meek and timid, but this was something else entirely. “Really, Neville.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve been hanging around Malfoy too often.”

“Are you going to deny that you were the one who taught Harry all those spells to help him win the tournament?”

“Yeah, Granger.” Malfoy leaned back in his chair and crossed an ankle over one knee. “Are you going to deny that?”

She scowled at them and finished her drink in one gulp. “I hate you both.”

Neville grinned. It reminded her of that innocent boy on the train who had been her first real friend.

She sighed. “Fourth year wasn’t much. I briefly dated Viktor and received hate mail from strangers for supposedly breaking Harry’s heart. I started S.P.E.W, which was actually rather helpful when I worked at the ministry. I helped Harry learn and perfect the _Accio_ spell so he could get past the first task. I trapped Rita Skeeter in a jar. But...that’s it, really. I know Voldemort returned that year. And I...I wish I could have done more to stop him. But that’s really Harry’s story. It’s not mine.”

When she looked up, Malfoy was staring at her, his stare revealing nothing.

Neville, however, was looking at her with a shocked expression. “Do you really believe that? Hermione...You’re brilliant! You started the DA! You changed lives! Do you really not know that? That’s why Malfoy’s been--”

“Alright.” Malfoy stood, cutting him off. “Students will be here tomorrow, so I think we should head out.”

“What?” Neville looked up at him, and Hermione saw them exchange a look. “Right. Double Herbology with second years in first block isn’t going to be fun with the amount of firewhisky I’ve had.”

Hermione looked at the boys warily. They were up to something, she was sure of it. Unfortunately, she was positive that Malfoy wouldn’t reveal anything if she asked. And if Hermione was honest, she wasn’t quite sure she wanted to know.

When she and Malfoy entered the castle, he led her into the Great Hall instead of heading to the staircase up to their rooms.

“Malfoy, what are you doing? It’s late, and I’m tired and…” she trailed off when he started waving his wand to vanish the House tables. “Malfoy!”

“Indulge me, Granger.” He grabbed her hand and led her to the center of the room.

He flicked his wand again, and music started playing. She recognized it as one of the ballads that The Weird Sisters played the night of the Yule Ball. He pulled her into his arms.

“Malfoy…”

“You were wearing periwinkle-blue robes, though I’m sure it was something you’d gotten in a dress shop in muggle London because it looked nothing like the dress robes in the magazines Pansy used to read. Potter and Krum complimented you, and the smile on your face lit up the room. It wasn’t until later that I realized that your teeth were different.”

“When I was hit with that hex outside Potions class, I had Madam Pomfrey fix them to normal size. I hated my teeth. It was just one more thing for everyone to tease me about.” Hermione spoke quietly. She should be stopping his monologue. She should be stepping out of his arms. Instead, she found herself relaxing into his embrace as they swayed to the slow music.

“Your hair had been tamed within an inch of its life. I can only imagine how much sleekeazy and spellwork went into that. Like I said earlier, Pansy was disgusted. You looked like a dream and she looked, well, she looked like Pansy. You know, I punched Goyle that night. And nearly hexed Theo. We’d snuck in some firewhisky and by the end of the ball, we were right sloshed. They...they said some things about you and I just lost it. Because Neville was right. You’re brilliant and beautiful. And even though I was a prat back then, I knew you didn’t deserve to be thought about that way.”

Hermione bristled and pulled back. “What did they say?”

“It’s not worth repeating, trust me. You were a vision that night, but if I’m honest, this is how I like you best. This is _Hermione Granger_ ,” he stepped back, still holding on to one hand and twirling her slowly. “Denims and a jumper. Your hair all wild curls that spark with magic when you get cross with me. We were just kids in fourth year, so everyone was enamored with your transformation, but we’re not kids anymore, Granger. Fancy robes and slicked-back hair and a famous dance partner aren’t important. You’re the most talented witch I’ve ever met. That’s what makes you--”

She kissed him. She’s not sure why, but she closed the short distance between them, and suddenly her lips were on his. Her brief moment of panic was squashed when he wrapped his arms around her deepened the kiss. If Hermione believed in such things, she would swear that she could feel her magic thrumming through her veins as he kissed her back. She whimpered. This was nothing like the awkward kiss she’d shared with Krum or comfortable kisses she’d experienced with Ron. No, kissing Malfoy was different. Kissing him made her feel...powerful.

“Excuse me,” they broke apart at the sound of McGonagall’s voice. “If you two are quite done, I’d appreciate it if you could return the House tables? The students will be back tomorrow.”

Hermione blushed profusely. Looking up, she saw McGonagall was raising an eyebrow at Malfoy, who simply smirked and shrugged.

She was going to throttle both of them.

“I need your help,” Malfoy abruptly sat in the chair on the other side of her small office.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you asking?”

“Of course not,” Malfoy scoffed with all his usual haughtiness, but there was a teasing twinkle in his eye. “I’m merely telling you that I need your help with my fifth years tomorrow. And if you don’t offer your assistance, then the students will not be receiving the top-notch education that they deserve and that will fall entirely on your shoulders.”

“You know that I’d be happy to help the students, _Professor_ Malfoy. However,” she smirked at him. “You should ask instead of presuming that I will help you.”

He heaved a tortured sigh. “Fine, _Madam_ Granger. You win. Would you please do me the honor of assisting with my fifth years tomorrow morning?”

Which is how Hermione found herself in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom on a Friday morning, helping Malfoy teach the Gryffindor and Slytherin fifth years how to cast a Patronus.

“Malfoy,” she nearly growled when she realized the subject of the lesson. “This is N.E.W.T material, and even then, it’s very difficult.”

He just looked at her. “Are you going to deny these students the opportunity to learn?”

She scowled in response, and he began his lesson.

She had anticipated Malfoy’s teaching style to resemble Snape’s, but instead of a cold sort of detachment, he seemed to be emulating Lupin. Malfoy was encouraging his students when he could. His lectures were, dare she say it, fun. Not that she would ever tell him that.

“Madam Granger is going to help us out today.” He smirked and motioned to Hermione, who had been sitting in the back of the class. 

Choruses of “Wow” and “Is it really her?” echoed through the classroom. Hands shot up as soon as she reached the front of the classroom to face the students.

Malfoy motioned for them all to lower their hands. “I’m sure you’re all very excited to hear from Madam Granger. However, we are here to learn how to cast a Patronus, so please give her your attention.”

Surprisingly, every student listened. She wasn’t sure what to make of that. Malfoy was an excellent professor.

“Alright,” Hermione tried to channel her inner Harry, her inner Lupin. Tutoring charms and transfiguration was one thing. Patronuses were another. “I’d like to start out by assuring you that this is a difficult spell. There are adult witches and wizards who are unable to master it. Most professors don’t teach it until seventh year, if they teach it at all. So, if you don’t get a grasp on it now, that doesn’t mean you never will.”

“Didn’t you master it in fifth year?” The question came from a Gryffindor in the front row. The girl had obviously been taking extensive notes during the lecture and was on the edge of her seat. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if that’s what she had looked like as a student.

“I did,” she admitted. “My friend Harry Potter taught me. He could create a corporeal Patronus in his third year. In our fifth year, he taught a group of us. A few were even more impressive than I was. Ginny Weasley and Luna Lovegood were fourth years when they mastered the spell.”

When none of the students spoke again, Hermione continued. She was moving back and forth across the front of the room now. “As Professor Malfoy explained earlier, you need to think of your happiest memories. It has to be a memory where it’s the happiest you ever remember feeling. Harry, for instance, would think of the moment when he found out he was a Wizard. It is also believed that a wonderfully happy thought can do it as well. Like the hope of seeing your best friends again, the idea of celebrating with them after a duel, something like that.”

She stopped her pacing, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. _Make it a powerful memory, the happiest you can remember,_ Harry had said. _Allow it to fill you up._

Hermione remembered McGonagall on her parent’s doorstep, telling her she was a witch, Holding a wand for the first time, Harry hugging her at the end of second year.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” ...but nothing happened. She felt her throat tighten. The room was eerily silent.

Hermione remembered the pride she’d felt when Harry mastered the summoning spell, receiving her outstanding O.W.L. scores, the first time she’d stunned a Death Eater.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” A weak silvery wisp floated out of her wand. She glanced at Malfoy. He looked concerned.

She took another deep breath. She had to concentrate. _Make it a powerful memory_. Hermione remembered feeling powerful when she ran through the Department of Mysteries with her friends. She remembered feeling powerful when she destroyed a Horcrux in the Chamber of Secrets. She remembered feeling powerful when she, Luna, and Ginny were dueling Bellatrix.

She remembered kissing Malfoy in the Great Hall, her magic running through her like fire.

“ _Expecto Patronum_!” A shining silver otter burst out of her wand and gamboled around the classroom above the students.

Hermione was sure she had a look of shock on her face. Patronuses were supposed to be produced with happy memories, not memories of...what had she been feeling?

_Make it a powerful memory_.

Merlin, she’d felt _powerful_ in those memories. Adrenaline and magic coursing through her, her friends by her side. She’d felt...invincible in those moments. In the DA lessons, the memory of McGonagall showing up on her doorstep had been enough to have her casting a corporeal Patronus on the second attempt.

“Alright. Everyone pair off,” Malfoy addressed the students. The sound broke her from her reverie. “I want you all to work together and help each other figure out your happiest memories if you need to. Like Madam Granger said, not everyone will master this today.”

They spent the rest of the period walking around the room, assisting the students with their wand technique, or helping to identify a happy memory.

“Why don’t you teach the whole lesson?” Hermione asked once the last of the students left the classroom. “Surely, you’re talented enough to cast one.”

He cleared his throat, not meeting her eyes. “I thought it best if the students were able to see it.” He looked at her then. “What were the memories you used? What had your otter bursting out like it did?”

“Slapping you in third year is a pretty happy memory.” Technically, she wasn’t lying.

But she got the feeling that neither of them was telling the full truth.

The next day, Malfoy led her to the Entrance Hall after dinner. “Are you ready?”

She looked at him, confused. “Ready for what? I thought Neville couldn’t meet tonight?”

“We’re going to the Ministry.” He said it so matter-of-factly.

“But why--” Hermione went cold. They’d done the Shrieking Shack. They’d discussed the Yule Ball and her tutoring Harry. They were going chronologically. Which meant… “No.”

“Granger,” he looked determined. “You agreed to do this, and it’s working. You haven’t had nightmares about chess pieces or poisons or basilisks or werewolves since you walked me through what happened.”

“But fifth year...Malfoy, that all happened at the Department of Mysteries. It didn’t happen at Hogwarts. If we’re doing this for the good of the castle, then we can skip to--”

“We’re doing this for you, Granger.” His jaw ticked. “Let’s go. McGonagall said we could use her Floo.”

His tone left no room for argument, so she followed him.

The atrium of the Ministry of Magic no longer held a large statue of a witch and wizard sitting on a stone held up by muggles and muggle-borns, something Hermione had been exceedingly grateful for when she arrived on her first day on the job. Kingsley, apparently, had ensured it was the first thing to go.

Much to the annoyance of those involved, however, the offending statue was not replaced with the original monument. There was no witch and wizard surrounded by a centaur, goblin, and house-elf. While that statue was certainly wrought with issues, Hermione would have preferred it to the current structure that now stood before her.

“How did he even let that happen?” Draco waved a hand at the stone fountain. “I thought Potter hated all that rubbish.”

The statue that now stood in the atrium of the Ministry of Magic was a monument to those who fought in the war.

Harry stood as the largest, most prominent figure within the small circular wall. He was facing outward, a determined look etched on his face while he raised his wand high in the air. It pointed upward towards the enchanted ceiling. To his left was Ron, who had been carved only slightly smaller than Harry and whose stance was defiant as he faced the atrium. His wand pointed straight out away from his body.

By far the smallest figure, Hermione’s likeness completed the circle. Truly, she was dwarfed by the two men behind her. Her wand appeared to be held loosely at her side. In her other hand rested an open book. Though her body faced the atrium as well, her face was turned down as if she really was reading.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Harry tried to fight Kingsley on it. It’s the only time I’ve ever heard him use ‘but I defeated Voldemort’ to make someone listen to him, but Kingsley wouldn’t budge. He said that the people needed hope after such a trying time.”

“And Potter just accepted it?”

“He had to, didn’t he?” She shrugged. “But he was so angry. He might pretend to enjoy it, but everyone knows how much he hates being in the spotlight. The day the statue was unveiled, he got right pissed that night on muggle scotch and started firing spells in my living room. Nearly destroyed everything.”

When she looked at him, Malfoy’s gaze was still on the statue. When he did tear his gaze away and meet her eyes, he looked pensive.

“Shall we?” He asked before heading towards the lifts.

Again, Hermione had no choice but to follow him. She was nervous. There was no denying that. While she had, of course, been in the Ministry for work, she had stuck to the levels her departments were on. Levels two and four were safe.

Levels nine and ten were not.

“Level nine,” the female voice rang through the lift. “Department of Mysteries.”

Hermione’s pulse began to race as they walked through the plain black door and into the circular room. When the door closed behind them, and the room began to spin, Malfoy pulled out his wand.

“ _Finite Incantatem, Arresto Girar_ ,” he murmured. The walls slowed to a stop. 

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “How--”

But Malfoy cut her off with another spell, “ _Mistero Vano Revelo_.”

The doors glowed a different color before returning to black, leaving behind a single word on each door.

**Thought. Death. Love. Prophecy. Space. Time.**

“How--” Hermione started again, her mouth suddenly dry. “How did you do that?”

“Oh, you know. I waltzed in, threw the Malfoy name around, and everyone bowed to my every whim.”

The lie was so obvious that it wasn’t worth calling him out on it. The boy she knew in school absolutely would have done that. But the man she knew now? Sure, the Malfoy name still meant a great deal, what with his and Narcissa’s Orders of Merlin, Third Class. He did not, however, use it to his advantage. She knew him well enough by now to recognize that, even in circumstances where throwing money at a problem would ease the way, he wouldn’t do it.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” As much as the Shrieking Shack had changed her, the Department of Mysteries had gone down in history as the beginning of the Second Wizarding War.

He looked at her. “Where do we start?”

Hermione sighed. “Once the room stopped spinning, we had to figure out which door Harry had been dreaming about. The first one we tried held a container of brains.”

“Thought,” Malfoy whispered, looking at the glowing orange word on the door.

“Apparently, Ron got caught in it at one point that night. Madam Pomfrey said that thoughts leave deeper scarring than almost anything else. She gave him a lot of Dr. Ubbly’s Oblivious Unction to help heal him.”

Malfoy snorted. “Oblivious.”

“The next room we entered was Death, though we certainly didn’t know it at the time. All we could see was a strange veil at the center of a large amphitheater. Harry and Luna could hear voices coming from it. I was...I was terrified.”

He turned to look at white word contrasted against black. “They had seen death before. Like the thestrals.”

“That’s my theory, yes.” Hermione motioned towards the door with the deep red letters. “We couldn’t open this door.”

“Love.” Malfoy stared at it. “One of those ridiculous books mentions this room. Potter quoted Dumbledore.”

Hermione nodded. “It’s the updated edition of _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts_ , as I recall.”

“‘It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than human intelligence, than the forces of nature. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all.’”

“You have it memorized?”

“Have you met me?”

Malfoy smirked. “So, what happened next?”

“We finally found the room we were looking for.”

“Prophecy.”

They both turned to look at the glowing blue word. 

“That’s...where the battle started.” Hermione took a deep breath. “By the time we’d realized it was a trap, it was too late. The Death Eaters showed up, demanded the prophecy, and the fighting began.”

“My father.”

Hermione gulped. “Yes.” There was no point in saying more. That part of the story had been told time and time again.

“The books say you nearly destroyed all the Prophecies.”

“In our efforts to get away, we used the smashed orbs as a distraction. We got...split up. Ron, Luna, and Ginny found themselves in Space.” The word glowed with purple light. “I hear they blew up Pluto.”

Malfoy said nothing.

“Harry, Neville, and I ended up in the Time room.” She turned to the door with the gold lettering. “Always seems to come back to time, doesn’t it?”

He made a noncommittal noise.

“Crabbe Sr. and one of the Lestrange brothers followed us in. Harry stunned Crabbe, and Lestrange got trapped in one of the time jars.” She was staring at the door now, eyes unfocused and cloudy. “We ran into an office just off the room. I went to lock the door, but two Death Eaters followed us in. I was thrown into a bookshelf but managed to silence one of them. Dolohov, I found out later. Harry cast a body bind curse on the second one.”

“Hermione…”

“Purple light flew out of Dolohov’s wand. I didn’t even have time to breathe before it hit me, let alone cast a shield charm. I woke up in the hospital wing three days later with a cursed scar across my ribs. They said his casting it non-verbally is what saved me.”

Quiet filled the room. Silence. Hermione couldn’t help but think that maybe a room should be added to the circle. Surely a silence this heavy was something to be studied.

She was the one who broke the deafening quiet. “I always think of Luna when I remember that night.”

“You...what?” Malfoy looked dumbstruck.

“Harry was determined to come here that night. He wouldn’t listen to reason. He kept telling us that we didn’t need to do with him, but...well, you know Ron. He’s going to have Harry’s back. I have to go to make sure they don’t get themselves killed. Neville was a bit like Harry, I think. He was determined. He knew he wasn’t the most skilled, but he wanted to help. The DA had given him a sort of hope.”

“And Weasley’s sister has been in love with Harry for years.”

“Quite,” Hermione smiled. “Though Ginny takes after Fred and George quite a bit. She’s very talented in her own right.”

“Yes, I’ve been on the wrong end of her bat-bogey hex.”

“Ginny and Luna were just fourth years, you know. The argument could be made, though, that Ginny was family, and she’d fiercely loyal. But Luna? Merlin, Malfoy, everyone was awful to her all the time. We’d all called her ‘Loony’ for so long that it kept slipping out. I was fairly rude to her about all those ridiculous creatures she talks about.”

“But…?”

“But...she followed Harry into the battle. She just...Luna had this blind faith in us all. Although, knowing her, it wasn’t blind at all. It’s like...It’s like she saw Harry as a kindred spirit or something. She’d only known us for a year, and yet she willingly fights Death Eaters with Harry.”

“You’d only known Potter for a year, and you followed him to Voldemort.”

“That’s different.”

“Is it, Granger?”

“Of course, it is.”

“Why?”

“Because Luna’s loyalty and bravery deserve to be celebrated.”

Hermione watched as the mask Malfoy usually wore fell away. She saw a myriad of emotions play through. Shock, frustration, anger.

“After Dolohov cursed you, did you know that Neville carried your unconscious body through these rooms? Did you know that Potter and Neville only walked away from you because they had to? Did you know that Weaslette sat in that damn brain room with a broken ankle and watched over you and Luna and Ron until help came?”

“Okay, Malfoy--”

“Did you know that Potter sat beside your bed in the hospital wing, praying that you’d wake up? He was terrified that he’d gotten his best friend killed.”

“I...no. He--he never told me.” Hermione’s voice shook.

“McGonagall and Dumbledore had a row over whether or not to tell your parents, just in case you didn’t make it. Madam Pomfrey gets teary-eyed just talking about it! Snape didn’t sleep or eat for two days until he finally found a set of potions that would help you recover.”

“Draco?” She quietly interrupted him. “How do you know all of this?”

He let out a deep sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I asked them.”

“What?”

“Hermione, I…” It wasn’t often Malfoy was at a loss for words. “We went through school together, and I was a right prat, but you were this unapologetic know-it-all. You stood up to Snape and punched me in the face and hexed some poor girl's face for snitching. And then you show up here at Hogwarts six years later and I fully expect that swotty girl to knock me on my arse. But you don’t. We talk and we drink with Neville and we teach the students and--”

“Draco--” She tried to stop him, getting the feeling that maybe she didn’t want to know any more.

“--then I read those asinine books that spout all this rubbish about Potter and Weasley, and you’re barely mentioned! And you’re not even mad about it!”

“What does that have to do with--”

“The love and affection and respect these people have for you could fill that whole bloody room.” His hand motioned wildly to the door with the crimson letters. 

Hermione swallowed nervously. “But it’s not about me, Malfoy.”

“Of course it is, Granger. That’s what I’m trying to prove to you.”

Truthfully, she didn’t know what to think. It’s not that she thought Malfoy was lying because she didn’t. But standing in that dark circular room, she couldn’t help but be skeptical. There’s a reason that specific subjects studied in the Department of Mysteries.

**Thought. Death. Love. Prophecy. Space. Time.**

Of course, she was angry that her contributions to the war were barely mentioned. Of course, she was angry that her figure in the atrium statue was a mockery of her character. Of course, she was angry that her skill and talent and power were never mentioned.

**Thought. Death. Love. Prophecy. Space. Time.**

Five years of her life whittled down to just four months of questions and storytelling. Malfoy had asked her more than any reporter. He seemed to genuinely want to know what she thought about the events. Her nightmares about trolls and chess pieces, basilisks and dementors had disappeared. He’d done so much for her in such a short time. He’d gone so far as to speak to her friends and professors. And yet...what had she done for him? 

**Thought. Death. Love. Prophecy. Space. Time.**

“You know, Malfoy,” she looked him in the eye, gathering all her Gryffindor courage. “Sixth year is next. And I’m not sure I’m the one who needs to get that year off my chest.”

His eyes widened. “Bloody hell.”


	7. Draco Malfoy & the Dark Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a short reference to suicidal ideation at the end of this chapter. It's only a sentence or two, but please be kind to yourself if you think it'll bother you. (As an FYI- it's not like "I was gonna do it". It's more "if it happened, it wouldn't be the worst.")

**February 2005**

It wasn’t often that Draco requested the use of the Headmistress’s office to seek counsel with the portraits. With Granger there, he’d been visiting them less and less often.

Now, he was wondering what the bloody hell he’d been thinking when he’d politely asked McGonagall for a moment alone.

“You know,” Dumbledore mused from his portrait behind the headmistress’s desk. “I sometimes think we sort too soon.”

In the portrait next to him, Snape rolled his eyes. “Are you referring to Miss Granger’s _cunning_ ability to turn Mr. Malfoy’s plan against him?”

Dumbledore smirked. “I was merely thinking how _brave_ it was for Draco to continue with this plan in the first place.”

“Ah, yes. With this scheme, he comes to us for guidance, but when it involves life and death…” Snape trailed off.

“Surely you don’t underestimate Miss Granger, Severus. I’m quite sure finding oneself on her bad side could result in unfavorable consequences. You do remember Rita Skeeter? Dolores Umbridge?” Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with mirth.

“Quite impressive, for an insufferable know-it-all.” Snape’s comment was casual, but it was the last straw for Draco.

“I’m right here, you know! And she’s not a know-it-all. Hermione is bloody brilliant.” His tone was low and dangerous. “And if you hadn’t been so determined to hate her for being Potter’s friend, then you would have admitted that a long time ago.”

Dumbledore turned to face Snape, looking pensive. “Interesting. I would have thought you had told him by now.”

Snape’s composure slipped for a mere second before his mask slid back into place, an eyebrow raised. Draco thought it might be in provocation.

“Severus,” Dumbledore continued, looking back down to consider Draco. “I do believe he’s grown to care for the girl.”

At this, Snape rolled his eyes. “If I’m to hang next to you for all eternity, then I’d appreciate new content, Albus. And what would you have him do? Cast a Patronus to run around the office?”

“Can we please get back on topic? We’re talking about Hermione here.” Draco stood and began to pace the room. He’s not sure when he’d begun thinking of her as Hermione instead of Granger. Quite frankly, he was choosing not to dwell on it.

Dumbledore smiled. “Of course, Draco. Where were we? ...Ah, yes. You were just telling us how your plan was derailed when Miss Granger suggested that sixth year wasn’t about her.”

“She always says that.” He growled, frustrated. “She’s always saying that it’s not her story.”

“Did you really expect your plan for sixth year to go accordingly?” Snape’s eyebrow was raised.

Draco scowled. “Point taken.”

“I do believe Miss Granger is right in this instance, Draco.” Dumbledore had that look on his face like he was about to impart great wisdom that only he understood. “Her sixth year was very informative, and I believe she learned a great many things about life and love during her last year at Hogwarts.”

“Watching her non-verbally hex Mr. Weasley was rather enjoyable.” Snape interrupted.

“However,” Dumbledore continued. “Did you know that she staunchly defended you to Harry? While he was determined that you were a Death Eater, she was just as convinced of your innocence.”

Draco was stunned. “She...what? But she’s Potter’s best friend. She’s more loyal than a fourth-generation Hufflepuff.”

“Have you learned nothing, Mr. Malfoy?” Snape sneered. “Miss Granger was the only one who ever dared to knock some sense into Potter and Weasley. She stood up to them time and time again, still knowing that no one else in this school would put up with her nonsense.”

“Severus…” Dumbledore tried.

But Snape ignored him. “And despite her loyalty to them, she believed in the good of your character even when you showed her none. It would do you well to not lose that.”

“Severus…” Dumbledore repeated.

Draco got the feeling they were no longer talking about him and Hermione.

“She has shared her past,” Snape said bluntly, not looking at either of his conversation partners. “You should show her the same respect.”

He was clearly being dismissed. With a small nod to each portrait, Draco turned to leave.

“Draco,” Dumbledore’s voice stopped him. “One should never be afraid to reveal the best parts of themselves.”

As he walked out of the room, he could hear Dumbledore and Snape once again locked in quiet conversation.

“Was that comment necessary, Albus?”

“Miss Granger is not Lily, Severus.”

“He has the chance to have what I never did.”

“And what is that, may I ask?”

“Friendship. Freedom. ...Forgiveness.”

When the office door shut behind him, McGonagall was waiting.

“I would not recommend telling those two,” she gave him a stern look. “But I happen to agree with them.”

Draco was shocked. On the rare occasion that the two portraits were in accordance, the headmistress was not.

With an appraising nod, she strode into her office.

Running his hands through his hair, Draco made his way down the stairs and past the gargoyle. February was going to suck.

Why McGonagall scheduled a Hogsmeade trip for the weekend before Valentine’s Day, Draco would never know. If he thought about it, he could reason that it got the students out of Hogwarts so that they weren’t cooped up and doing questionable things within the castle walls. Additionally, if the students were in Hogsmeade, it meant that the professors didn’t have to witness whatever the students got up to.

Except for Draco and Hermione, who found themselves sitting at The Three Broomsticks, watching students wander in and out for pitchers of butterbeer and glasses of gillywater.

Blasted meddling professors. McGonagall was just as bad as Dumbledore. Not that Draco would ever dare to tell her that fact.

“Professor Malfoy?” He looked up to find a boy in Slytherin robes, holding a pile of books, parchment, and quills.

“Yes, Mr. Cussler?”

“Erm, well, you’ve repaired a Vanishing Cabinet before, right?”

Malfoy went still. “I have.” He knew his tone was cold, but he couldn’t stop the feeling of dread that began to fill him. Why was this student asking about the cabinet? Was he planning something? Should he tell McGonagall? Should he--

“That’s so cool!” Cussler set his books and parchment on the table next to them and fell into a chair. His excitement was palpable. “I’m in my sixth year, which you already know, I suppose. For Muggle Studies, Professor Sandford gave us this assignment where we have to find an object or concept in the muggle world and compare it to something in the wizarding world, right?”

Malfoy nodded as if he understood, trying to keep his face neutral. Even though most wizarding families no longer believed in the ridiculous blood purity idealism, it was still exceedingly rare for a Slytherin to take Muggle Studies. And very few students from any house took it at the N.E.W.T-level.

The boy continued. “So, one of my classmates is talking about guns and how they compare to wands in duels and things like that. Another has chosen to compare the postal service to owl post, which I think will be very difficult for them.”

“Alright…” He wasn’t quite sure where this was going.

“And what are you going to discuss?” Hermione asked. He’d almost forgotten she was there.

“There’s this book that’s really popular in the muggle world, right? It’s called _The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe_.”

Hermione nodded. “I read that as a small child. It’s quite good.”

“C.S. Lewis was a squib, did you know that?”

She smiled. “I did not. That’s very interesting, Mr. Cussler.”

The student turned back to Malfoy. “And the wardrobe in the book? It essentially acts like a Vanishing Cabinet. These four kids enter the wardrobe and exit into this other world.”

“And this book is popular with muggles?” Malfoy asked, stunned. He’s not sure what surprised him, the fact that muggles enjoyed reading about that level of magic, or the fact that this young Slytherin was so excited.

“Absolutely!” Cussler was practically bouncing in his seat. “We’re only supposed to write eighteen inches of parchment, but I’ve already filled twenty-three.”

“That’s...that’s quite impressive, Mr. Cussler. However, I’m unsure as to how I can be of service.”

“I was hoping you could explain how the Vanishing Cabinet actually worked? I get the theory, of course. I’ve read all the books in the library, but you’ve actually fixed one. You understand the magic behind it all.”

Draco looked back at Hermione. She had a drop of butterbeer foam on her upper lip and a smirk on her face. He nearly groaned. She certainly had turned the tables on him.

A few days later, he was standing in a corridor on the seventh floor, staring at a blank wall in front of him. The tapestry depicting Barnabas the Barmy teaching trolls the ballet hung on the wall behind him.

“Are you ready?”

Draco turned to find Hermione walked towards him. “How did you find me?”

“How do you think?” She held up the map.

“Ah.” Draco turned back to look at the wall, still not answering her original question. He wasn’t sure he was ready for her to know everything. “Are _you_ ready, Granger? It’s...It’s not a pleasant story.”

He could feel her fortify herself beside him before she spoke. “I’m not sure any of this has been pleasant. Reliving the worst moments of our lives isn’t exactly fun, you know.”

“Alright, then.”

Malfoy moved to walk back and forth in front of the wall, thinking not of a specific place, but of where to begin. _I need to tell her how it all started. I need a place that will show her where it all went wrong._

When the door appeared out of the wall, he took a deep breath, opened it, and entered the newly-formed room.

He shouldn’t have been surprised to find himself in the ballroom of Malfoy Manor, but it still hit him like a punch to the gut. This room, this big, gaudy, superfluous room is where the pain and agony started for so many.

“A ballroom?” Hermione asked, clearly confused.

“The ballroom at Malfoy Manor,” Draco confirmed.

“Is this...Is this where you took the mark?” While she stumbled over the words at first, the question almost came out as though she was asking about the weather.

“It is, though I should begin before that.” He took another deep breath. “The first time I heard the word ‘mudblood’ was in this room. I had no idea what it really meant. My father was having a party, and one of his guests had said it. The first time I said it, my mother reprimanded me. She said that wasn’t a word to be spoken in polite company. But Father? Merlin, Father looked _proud_.”

“You looked up to him.” She said quietly, looking around the large room.

Draco nodded. “Fifth year, during our Christmas holidays, I peeked in on a...meeting of sorts. Everyone wore dark cloaks and horrid masks. Mother caught me and pulled me away before I really saw anything else. But I knew I wanted to be a part of it. Father was in there and I just...I wanted to be included. I regret that now, obviously”

He paused. The next part would be more difficult. He really didn’t want to admit these things. She may never look at him the same way.

“The act of taking the mark is far simpler than it should be, just a simple spell and unbearable pain. It’s the ceremony of it that makes me sick now. I was kneeling in the middle of this ballroom while Voldemort circled me and made some grand speech about loyalty and sons atoning for the sins of the father.” He swallowed thickly. “Mother was sobbing in the corner. She’d spent most of the day trying to convince me not to do it, but I wouldn’t be swayed. I was determined to be a part of something great. I see now that I was wrong. It wasn’t great, and I certainly had no choice in any of it.”

“You were just a kid, Draco. We all were.”

“And yet none of you damned yourselves as I did.” He couldn’t even find it in himself to appreciate her use of his first name. “I found out that night that the meeting I’d seen at Christmas was one of their Revels. As soon as it started, I’d realized the magnitude of the mistake I’d just made. You see, Voldemort got off on power. But the Death Eaters? That wasn’t enough. So they would bring in muggles and muggle-borns and...well, I’m sure you can imagine.”

She looked at him then, eyes wide.

“I never participated,” he assured her. “I’m positive I was too terrified and disgusted to get it up if I tried, but I...I remember thinking that none of it made sense anymore. Their actions certainly weren’t honorable. They weren’t behaving like men. They were...they were monsters and I’d just condemned myself.”

“Draco…”

“Once everyone was gone...once the damage was done? Voldemort gave me my assignment. I’d had the mark for just a handful of hours, and I was already regretting everything. Mother held me as I cried that night. I hadn’t cried since I was a child, but I just couldn’t hold it back after seeing all of that.”

Hermione didn’t speak. Draco closed his eyes, sure he’d lost her, sure he’d buggered it all up just by telling his side of the story.

“My entire life, I just wanted to make my father proud. I just wanted to...to have him look at me with something other than mild disinterest or disdain. By the time we returned to school, I was terrified all the time. I’d been given this impossible task as a punishment for someone else’s misdeeds, and I didn’t have anyone to turn to.”

“Snape would have helped you.” He opened his eyes to find Hermione standing in front of him. “Dumbledore would have helped you.”

Draco nodded. “I realize that now, but I was still too much of an arrogant prat to ask for help. I thought that everything would be okay if I could just accomplish the task. If I could do that, then Voldemort would be happy, and Father would be proud.”

She stepped closer and wrapped her arms around his middle, laying her head on his chest. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, Draco. No one deserves that. I know that Harry didn’t make it any easier.”

This woman would be the death of him. Here he was, admitting to the things he’d witnessed, horrible things that no one should have to hear about. But she was comforting him.

He returned her embrace. “Ultimately, I did it to myself. I only wish that I had realized it all sooner.”

“But, you realized it eventually.”

“Not until it was too late.” He pulled back to look in her eyes. “I am truly sorry for every slur and insult I’ve thrown at you, Hermione. I didn’t...I may have accepted it when I was young because I idolized my father. But I don’t believe it. Not anymore. I need you to know that.”

To his surprise, she placed a small kiss on his lips and smiled. “I know, Draco.”

“Hermione--” He started.

“What’s next?” She stepped out of his arms and looked around the room again. “For all its trimmings, this room is rather depressing.”

Draco cleared his throat. “Well. I supposed next would be the Astronomy Tower.”

She looked at him again. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Incredulous, he followed her out of the room and down the corridor towards the north end of the castle. 

At the base of the Astronomy Tower, Hermione stopped and turned to him, but she didn’t speak. She just reached out her hand for his. After lacing his finger through hers, she led their ascent up the long winding staircase.

Draco couldn’t take his eyes off their joined hands. Had he missed some cosmic shift between them? When had they gone from enemies to friends? From friends to...to comforting kisses and holding hands? Although, if he thought about it, they hadn’t really been enemies in a long time, and somewhere between Saturday drinks with Neville and helping her tutor students, they’d become friends.

The kiss in the Great Hall had certainly surprised him. Then again, he’d been complimenting her for the better part of an hour, and they’d been drunk on firewhisky. Draco had written it off as an alcohol-fueled action that warranted no more thought. At least, no more thought in broad daylight. He’d certainly thought about that kiss quite a bit while he fell asleep.

Still, none of that really explained how they’d arrived here, at the point where she was comforting him with a peck on the lips and holding his hand.

“Draco?”

Broken from his reveries, he looked around to find that they’d reached the landing at the top of the tower.

He let out a ragged breath and let go of her hand. “You know, I haven’t been up here since it happened? Nearly eight years and I’ve never returned to the scene of the crime.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide, then her face crumpled with guilt. “You don’t have to talk about it. I mean...I’ve read the books, too. That night it’s...it’s all there.”

“You can’t use your own argument to get me out of it.” He smirked. “I’d have to let you off the hook and I’m not going to do that.”

She scoffed.

“Besides,” he continued. “We both know those ridiculous books don’t tell the whole story. You’ve shown me yours, now I need to show you mine.”

“Alright,” Hermione actually laughed. “Then, by all means, please tell me everything.”

In that moment, with her eyes sparkling and her hair wild because of the cold February breeze, Draco would have. He absolutely would have told her everything, but it wasn’t the time. Later, he knew he would certainly regret not telling her.

Sighing, he swirled his wand to cast a warming charm around them before he spoke. “I knew I’d made a mistake the night I took the mark. I was miserable, but I could still hide behind my prattish ways. If I was a little more withdrawn or if I snapped a little more viciously at someone, then who cared? I was just Draco Malfoy. This is how I always was, so what was the difference? No one noticed.”

“Harry noticed.” Her voice was quiet.

He thought of what Dumbledore and Snape had said. Despite Harry being convinced that he was Death Eater, Hermione had believed in Draco.

“Yes,” he confirmed and began circling the open room. “While I recognized my mistake the night of the revel, I don’t think the magnitude of it all really hit until I saw Katie Bell. Here was someone I’d gone to school with for six years, someone who had never really done anything to harm me, and yet I’d nearly killed her. Suddenly it was, well, it was personal, I suppose.”

“It made it all real. It wasn’t just a faceless idea anymore.”

Draco nodded. “Then Ron was poisoned by the mead. I swear I didn’t intend for him to get hurt. It was meant for Dumbledore. But then it was even more real. Bell was innocent, but I didn’t know her well. I knew Weasley. We hated each other, but again--we’d gone to school together for six years. We’d been childhood rivals for six years. I understand Ron in a lot of ways. Poisoning him was...Merlin, it was awful.”

Hermione stayed silent. He wished she’d say something to that statement.

“When I finally fixed the Vanishing Cabinet, Aunt Bella was so proud, but...Mother was disappointed. That, I think, hurt worse than any disappointed sneer my father ever threw my way.” Draco let out a mirthless chuckle. “My mother is the strongest person and knowing that I had reduced her tears time and time again was, in ways, worse than the pain of taking the mark or the fear of an impossible task.”

She nodded, still not speaking.

“When Snape told me Dumbledore had left with Potter, when he told me that it was time, I nearly had a panic attack. Monsters were about to enter our school, and I’d had a hand in it. Hogwarts, this place that had been my refuge, my escape, was going to be overrun and I...I’d helped them. By the time I was here, in the tower, confronting Dumbledore, I think I was on the edge of a breakdown.”

She turned to look at him. Draco’s eyes widened. She was standing where Dumbledore had stood, standing where the man had tried to convince him that there was still a chance. The old man had believed in his goodness, just like she did.

He swallowed thickly. “Dumbledore, he...he didn’t even seem scared. At least, it didn’t feel like he feared for his own life. It felt like his fear was for mine. He was trying to talk me down, I know he was. I was...I was lowering my wand when they showed up. I wanted so badly for everything to go back to the way it was, for our biggest problems to be stupid little spats on the Quidditch pitch.”

She was still silent, just looking at him as he spoke. In a way, her scrutinizing gaze reminded her of Dumbledore’s.

“I hate that he had to do it, but I will be forever grateful that Snape showed up and...and did it for me. Dumbledore had never been anything but kind to me. When the green flash hit him, when he fell, I stopped breathing. Snape had to drag me out of the castle because I couldn’t really get my brain to work. When we reached the Grounds, I finally got my legs under me and that’s when Potter showed up.”

Hermione moved to him then, wrapping her arms around his middle just as she’d done in the Room of Requirement. Her head rested against his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders as tears filled his eyes. “When Potter hit me with _Sectumsempra_ in the Spring, I’m not even sure I fought very hard. I had started to say _Crucio_ , but I don’t think the intent was there. It wasn’t him I was angry with. His curse hit me, and I just...I stopped fighting. Not that there’s much I could have done, but I was so tired of it all. I just wanted it to be over. I remember thinking that maybe...maybe it would be better that way. If I just...died, so I didn’t have to feel so awful all the time.”

“I’m glad you didn’t.” She nuzzled into his chest. “I’m glad you’re still here.”

Draco’s tears fell, running down his cheeks. “Me too, Hermione. Me too.”

He only hoped she still felt that way when it was all said and done.


	8. Hermione Granger & the Deathly Hallows

**March 2005**

As February became March, the weather over Scotland turned wet and rainy. The students turned antsy for the upcoming holidays. Even the portraits started to snarl in agitation. Being cooped up inside the castle was not a good experience for anyone.

Which was likely why Hermione scowled when a familiar owl flew clumsily through the Great Hall that morning at breakfast and nearly toppled her pumpkin juice upon landing.

“Pigwidgeon…” Hermione sighed, untying the letter from the owl’s little leg. It had Ron’s handwriting on it.

She gave Pig a little pat on the head before he took off again. She was glad he only got in the way of one other owl on his way out.

Unfortunately, her relief was short-lived.

_Hermione-_

_You’ll probably get the invitation soon, but Harry thought it would be best if you heard it from one of us first._

_The Ministry is having a Memorial Ball at Hogwarts on May 2nd. Kingsley said something about it being the seventh anniversary and how fitting that was. Thought Harry was going to lose it. There’s more, I think, but Kingsley said he’d explain it later. We’ll keep you updated._

_Padma is a saint for putting up with me, but you know that already. Ginny and James are good. I think she’s cursing Harry for getting her pregnant again, though._

_We miss you, Hermione. I hope whatever Malfoy is doing is working._

_-Ron_

Grabbing the letter, she nearly ran from the Great Hall. First, she was going to talk to McGonagall. Then, she would owl Kingsley and Ron. Only one of those letters would be kind. Finally, she would speak to Malfoy and get answers. Everyone but her seemed to know what was going on.

That was the plan, at least.

However, when Hermione entered the Headmistress’s office, it was empty save for the many portraits staring down at her. 

Pacing around the room, she let her mind wander. As usual, it wandered to Draco. When things between her and Draco had changed. The kiss in the Great Hall nearly two months ago could be blamed on firewhisky, which was precisely what Hermione told McGonagall after she’d caught them.

But she certainly couldn’t blame firewhisky for her actions in the Room of Requirement or the Astronomy Tower.

Of course, they hadn’t been enemies for years, and their friendship was becoming very precious to her, just like Harry or Ron’s. And yet...would she offer comfort to them as she had with Draco? If they were distraught, would she offer a kiss and wrap her arms around them?

No. No, she wouldn’t.

So how was her relationship with Draco different? She had hugged Harry and Neville and the Weasleys numerous times for numerous reasons, but it had never felt like it did when she wrapped her arms around Draco. When she touched him, the pull deep in her stomach had nothing to do with a port key or apparition. When she kissed him, heat pooled between her thighs. Kissing Viktor, Cormac, and Ron had certainly never affected her like that.

Even beyond the intense physical response she clearly had to him, which could be written off as simple physical attraction, was the mental and emotional response he evoked from her.

She’d never been able to debate Ancient Runes and Arithmancy with someone so thoroughly. Draco could match her intellectually on a level she hadn’t thought possible. 

Seeing the Draco she knew now standing in the Room of Requirement recounting the mistakes of his youth had nearly undone her. She could imagine the Draco she knew back then, how terrified he must have been.

Somewhere between the debates and drinks with Neville and watching him teach, she started falling in love with him.

Wait...what? I’m not in love with him.

“Well, well, well,” Phineas Nigellus called from his portrait high in the corner. “Never thought I’d see the day when Gryffindor’s little princess fell for a Slytherin in the Black bloodline.”

Apparently, she’d said her last thought out loud. Bloody hell. “I’m not--”

“Although we both know the lengths you’re willing to go to...pull the wool over someone’s eyes and save your own skin.” He continued as if she hadn’t said a word. “I do hope that it works out. You’re quite talented for a, well...you know. Of course, who knows how you’ll feel once everything comes to light--”

“That’s quite enough, Phineas,” A voice interrupted. “And Miss Granger, if you wouldn’t mind discontinuing your pacing about the office? It's quite distracting."

Hermione stopped, whipping her head around to see Professor Snape staring down at her from his portrait behind the Headmistress’s desk. The portrait to the right was empty.

“Professor Snape,” she nodded in greeting.

“Miss Granger,” he acknowledged.

A silence fell between them, Hermione’s brain working fast. She stared down at the desk in front of her. What did Phineas mean when he questioned how she would feel when everything came to light? When _what_ would come to light?

She thought of McGonagall and Draco sharing looks. She thought of Harry suddenly sending her the Marauder’s Map, Draco interrupting Neville as he was about to say something about...about what, though?

And what was Ron talking about when he said that he hoped whatever Malfoy was doing was helping? Why was everyone so bloody cryptic?

Hermione looked back up at Professor Snape. Did he know anything? Would Draco have told him? Harry had told her about the memories in the Pensieve. Maybe...

He broke the silence. “I taught you for six years, Miss Granger. I can see your mind working. You may ask questions.”

"You know something, don't you?" She looked at him skeptically. "You know why they're all so insistent about hearing my side of things."

“I do.”

“I know it has to be more than relieving my nightmares or fixing the castle. I just don’t understand. Will you tell me what is--”

“I cannot do that, Miss Granger.”

She huffed, and they fell into a short silence. “They’re having a Memorial Ball on May 2nd. Kingsley thought it would be fitting to celebrate the seventh anniversary of the battle.”

“Of course, he did,” Snape snorted. “Members of the Order are not known for being subtle.”

“Ron seems to think something special will happen at the event, but he doesn’t know what it is yet.”

Snape made a non-committal noise.

“Wait…” Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “You already know, don’t you? You--”

“Oh! I wasn’t expecting you, Miss Granger.” It was Professor McGonagall, storming into the office with Draco following closely behind her. “But nevermind that, I’m glad you’re here.”

Hermione looked to Draco to find him engaged in some sort of silent conversation with Snape, who looked positively bored.

“Can someone please explain to me what’s going on?” Her patience had nearly run out. She needed an explanation, and at this point, she didn’t care what it pertained to. The Memorial Ball, Malfoy’s secret plan, _something_.

“Imagine the surprise when the Ravenclaws awoke this morning to find themselves on the North side of the castle!” McGonagall looked mildly stressed. Hermione hadn’t seen her like this since, well, since she, Harry, and Ron were students.

“What? Why on earth would--” Hermione’s eyes went wide, and she gasped. “The Astronomy Tower.”

“Is now on the West side of the castle,” Draco finished for her.

She sighed, then addressed McGonagall. “The castle had unfinished business, yes? The rooms off the third-floor corridor disappeared after Draco and I walked through the events of first year. A few days ago, at the end of February, we went up to the Astronomy Tower to...to talk through those events.”

“I explained everything,” Draco added. “It appears that Hogwarts has decided to close that chapter of the book.”

Snape snorted. “An interesting choice of words, Mr. Malfoy.”

“What--” Hermione stopped herself, deciding not to ask about Snape’s cryptic words. She would just add it to the list of things she needed to figure out later. “Forgive me, Headmistress, but I don’t understand. I was under the impression that the point of all this was to rehabilitate the castle. We’ve done that. You wanted to move the Astronomy Tower anyway.”

“The Ravenclaws came down for breakfast this morning and found themselves in a different part of the castle!” It wasn’t often McGonagall looked flustered. Hermione would have laughed if it weren’t so terrifying. “And why has nothing else disappeared? The Shrieking Shack is still barely standing, and I just stopped a group of Hufflepuffs from moving into the Room of Requirement. Am I to assume the Chamber of Secrets still exists as well?”

Hermione nodded. “Draco was insistent that we go year by year, professor. The Shack, the Room of Requirement, the Chamber of Secrets…it all comes back around at the end. It’s not...we’re not finished yet.”

“We’ve done approximately one year of our schooling per month since October.”

McGonagall paled. “And you just completed your sixth year.”

“That’s correct, professor,” Hermione confirmed. “I suppose that, since it’s the beginning of March, we will attempt seventh year at some point in the coming days, or...what would have been seventh year.”

The Headmistress fixed her gaze on Draco. “Mr. Malfoy--”

“I do believe that’s enough, Minerva,” Dumbledore stated, looking down from his perch on the wall.

“But, Albus--”

“We both know what Draco and Hermione are attempting to accomplish in their endeavors. They need to finish the story.” His eyes were severe in a way she had only heard Harry describe. Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to make of that.

“Unfortunately, I agree, Minerva.” Snape chimed in. “To paraphrase a feeble old man, their way forward is clear.”

“Very well,” McGonagall sighed heavily as if dealing with the two portraits was far more than she could handle on a daily basis. She turned back to Hermione and Draco. “You two will wait until the Easter holidays to do...whatever it is you are going to do. The majority of students will not be in the castle at that time.”

Draco nodded.

“Yes, professor,” Hermione agreed, though her stomach felt heavy with dread. Easter holidays were when...well, she’d really rather not think about that.

Unfortunately, her subconscious had other ideas. That night, she woke screaming from a nightmare. Draco was wiping the tears from her eyes. They didn’t often talk in moments like this. After the first few nights, Draco had taken to simply quietly holding her. That was another thing about their relationship that had changed. They no longer sat on her floor, leaning up against her bed.

They were lying in her bed, her back pressed against his front. His arm wrapped around her middle.

“The summer after sixth year, I modified my parents’ memories.” She confessed. “I tried to get them back after...after everything, but it couldn’t be reversed.”

Draco pulled her closer. “They would have been targets.”

“That’s what I thought.” Still, the confirmation hurt her heart. “I spent most of the summer scouring every spell book I could get my hands on. Charms, Transfiguration, Defense--I learned it all. Looking back, there were only a handful of spells I used that we hadn’t learned in school.”

“The wards, the undetectable extension charm.”

“Yes.”

They were both quiet, their breathing the only sound in the dark room. When he spoke, Hermione could feel his lips moving against her bare shoulder. “When the Ministry was taken, all prisoners were released from Azkaban. Voldemort _Crucio_ ’d my mother the moment Father walked through the door.”

“We’re going to have to go back, Draco. The Forest of Dean, the Chamber of Secrets, the Room of Requirement, the Shrieking Shack.” She took a deep breath. “Malfoy Manor.”

She felt him nod. “I know.”

The next morning, Hermione found Draco still holding her close. It was the first time he hadn’t returned to his own bed after comforting her.

It was not the last.

The weeks leading up to Easter holidays were busy, though a sense of dread often settled over Hermione.

Fortunately, the students who often graced the library, though antsy, were well behaved, which made her job much easier.

Unfortunately, the students she was tutoring once a week had moved past wanting to work on simple charms and transfiguration. One Ravenclaw begged to learn _Protego_. A pair of Gryffindors wanted to know how to disillusion themselves. And no matter how much she insisted that Professor Malfoy would cover the material, they would not let her out of it.

Each night, when she inevitably woke from a nightmare about unbearable pain or a giant snake or a muggle-born registry, Draco was there. It was comforting to know that he was there, that he had seen her pain and had some of his own.

When the day came for the students to leave for the holidays, she and Draco were silent as they woke. They were silent as he returned to his rooms, and they dressed in private. They were silent as they walked the mass of students down to Hogsmeade Platform.

By the time the train left the station, Hermione couldn’t take it anymore. “I suppose it’s time.”

Malfoy’s jaw clenched. “Yes. I informed McGonagall that we would likely apparate out when the train left.”

“Alright,” she nodded. With her beaded bag clutched in her left hand, Hermione felt a morbid sense of calm ripple through her. She held out her right arm for him to take. “Are you okay to side-along?”

His hand on her elbow was the only response she received. A moment later, they were gone with a soft pop.

They landed in a small clearing in a dense forest.

Malfoy spoke first, “The Forest of Dean? I recognize it from the pictures, but this isn’t the first place you went. It’s all in _A Year on the Run_. You went to Grimmauld Place, then infiltrated the Ministry. You--”

“That’s true.” Hermione nodded, opening her beaded bag. “But this place is more important. _Accio_ tent.”

“More important than freeing muggle-borns from the Ministry? More important than Godric’s Hollow?”

“Yes.” She set up the tent, flicking her wand to tie the ropes and sending the stakes into the ground.

Malfoy didn’t respond. Nor did he move. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him standing with his hands on his hips, his jaw clenching with more frequency as time went on.

“ _Protego Totalum._ ” Hermione waved her wand in a wide circle around the clearing. “ _Salvio Hexia. Repello Muggletum. Muffliato. Cave Inimicum. Trascurato._ ”

“Granger--” He was clearly frustrated if he was reverting back to her surname.

“Malfoy.” She turned and entered the tent.

“Come on, Granger,” Draco started, an edge to his voice. “You can’t just skip parts of the story.”

Hermione looked at him for a long moment before she spoke. “As you’ve read, Kingsley’s warning came during Bill and Fleur’s wedding. Harry and I were together, but there was this terrifying moment where we couldn’t find Ron. As soon as he grabbed my arm, I apparated us to a busy muggle street. We didn’t know about the taboo on Voldemort’s name, so Dolohov and Rowle found us in this little cafe. We knocked them out and obliviated them.”

As usual, Draco walked slowly around the room as she spoke, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“We went to Grimmauld Place for a few weeks until we figured out that Umbridge had the locket. Harry and Ginny live there now, and they’ve cleaned it up, so it’s almost unrecognizable.” She took a deep breath. “The ministry was...terrifying. Facing Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries was child’s play compared to seeing Muggle-Borns being rounded up. I was disguised by polyjuice, but I was just...I was sitting there next to that evil woman watching her interrogate innocent witches and wizards, and I couldn’t do anything about it. It could have easily been me in that group of innocents. It should have been me.”

“But you rescued them,” he interrupted. “And you got the locket.”

“And I splinched Ron in the process.”

Draco continued his quiet perusal of the tent. “What happened next?”

“I had brought everything with me, just in case. A tent, clothing, books for research, potions and pastes for medicine. But...but food was scarce and that locket that evil and, well, you know that Ron left.”

He just nodded.

“For weeks, it was just Harry and me. In some ways, that was okay. I mean, we need Ron, but Harry’s my best friend. If I hadn’t had him, I’m not sure what would have happened. Of course, I wasn’t the one with the weight of the Wizarding World on my shoulders. I wasn’t Undesirable Number One.”

Draco huffed. “You were Undesirable Number Two, Hermione. And you know he needed you just as much.”

Hermione just shook her head before continuing. “After a while, every campsite started to look the same. We lost weight because we couldn’t always find food. Even with magic and layers, we had to huddle for warmth. After Godric’s Hollow, we hopped around for a few days before coming here. I’d come here with my parents once. I couldn’t help but think that we needed a break, that it shouldn’t be this hard.”

“That’s when you got the Sword.”

“Yes,” she nodded. “Snape delivered it, as we found out later. Ron came back. They destroyed the locket. A few days later, we went to visit Xenophilius Lovegood.”

Hermione paused. For some reason, this part of the story hurt more than the Muggle-Born Registration Commission or Ron leaving.

“I’m sure you know what happened, but the part I remember most vividly is Luna’s room. It was like being back at the Department of Mysteries,” she smiled sadly. “She had painted us all on her walls. Harry, Ron, Ginny, Neville, even me. We were her friends, Draco, and they kidnapped her because of us.”

He moved across the tent and wrapped his arms around her. “They kidnapped her because they’re awful human beings. And Luna loves you all. Of course, you’re her friends. It happened the moment you sat with her on the train, just like it happened the moment you started helping Neville find his toad. It’s no Mountain Troll, but it’s still friendship, Hermione. They wouldn’t fight for you if it wasn’t.”

“They weren’t fighting for me,” she pulled back to look at him. “They were fighting to bring down Voldemort. They were fighting against Pureblood Ideology and genocide and--”

“You really believe that.” It wasn’t a question.

Hermione didn’t answer. Instead, she started pulling a few things out of her charmed bag. She didn’t want to think about what Draco was implying. She didn’t want that on her conscience. “I thought you should get the full experience. It’s not the same tent we slept in, but it’s similar, and I did bring food.”

They spent the rest of the day much like Hermione had spent her months on the run. She took him out to look for mushrooms to go with their pasta, and they found some berries for dessert. They read, talked, and walked the perimeter to check the wards. She told him about the Horcruxes.

In many ways, it comforted Hermione. The last seven years had been a whirlwind of Ministry jobs and bad dates. Her flat had never felt like home, and loud dinners with the Weasleys no longer felt safe. But here? In a tent in the wilderness? It was like she knew who she was. She knew how to put wards up and forage for food. She could cast heating charms and create bluebell flames. Out here, she was Hermione Granger.

She fell asleep in the safety of Draco’s arms, owls hooting, and leaves rustling all around them.

They woke to the sound of rain falling against the canvas tent. Hermione was grateful she’d remembered to add a waterproof charm to the soft material.

Her head was on Draco’s chest, an arm across his middle, and one leg slung over his. His arms were wrapped tightly around her. 

She hadn’t woken up next to someone in years. It had been even longer since she’d risen from sleep in a tangle of limbs. Her breath caught as a warm feeling pooled low in her abdomen. She had already come to the conclusion that she loved him. That embarrassing confession had taken place in front of Phineas Nigellus and Snape. But to be this close to him? To feel things she hadn’t felt since the beginning of her relationship with Ron? It was rather terrifying.

“It’s far too early for you to be thinking this hard, Granger.”

But then, maybe it wasn’t so terrifying after all. This was Draco. He was her friend.

She kissed him soundly, then trailed her hand down his torso, her destination clear. When she pulled back, she was slightly out of breath. “Oh, so it’s back to ‘Granger’ now?”

“Hermione,” he grabbed her hand, stopping its path. “I think...I think we should wait until this is all over. If you still want to when we’re done with all of this, then we will.”

She looked at him quizzically. He sounded pained, like it hurt him to have to stop her. Still, she nodded and pulled her hand away, accepting his wishes.

“We should get up,” he murmured, looking into her eyes.

“Yes, I suppose we should.”


	9. Hermione Granger & the Deathly Hallows, pt 2

**March 2005, contintued**

After getting dressed and eating a small breakfast of porridge and leftover berries, Draco apparated them to the Manor. Protected from the drizzling rain by a simple charm, they stood in silence, looking up at the impressive building. In hindsight, Hermione remembered very little of the Manor from her visit seven years ago. It was a day of chaos and pain. Now, in the misty daylight trying to peek through the rain, she could admit that the Manor was handsome. 

“Are you ready?” Draco asked quietly.

“Are you?” She returned, looking up at him.

He smirked down at her, but his usual mirth didn’t reach his eyes. “Let’s get on with it, then.”

Goosebumps broke out over Hermione’s skin as they entered the Manor. Vague flashes of memories assaulted her as they walked through the large entrance hall and turned left towards a closed door. She took a deep breath. She could do this. She had been in the Shrieking Shack, the first-floor girl’s bathroom, the rooms off the third-floor corridor.

This was just another room. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

“Are you ready?” Draco asked again, grabbing her hand and lacing his fingers with hers.

“Are you?” She repeated.

The Drawing Room of Malfoy Manor was nothing like she remembered. In her nightmares, the walls and ceiling were dark, the windows covered in black curtains. But this room...this room was beautiful. Cream-colored walls paired with pastoral paintings and light drapery. It was a room reminiscent of Buckingham Palace or Versailles, not a room that had seen muggle-borns tortured and goblins slaughtered.

“It’s…” Hermione trailed off.

“Different, yes,” he confirmed. “This is the drawing-room of my youth. The one you saw...that was Voldemort’s doing. He disliked bright rooms. So, with a wave of his wand, my childhood home became the house of horror that you saw.”

Her eyes found a spot on the fancy carpet, just off-center from the middle of the room. She thought she could see the stains of her blood and piss, but that was surely her imagination. 

Hermione swallowed dryly, still staring at the ornate rug. “Can I...Can I have a moment alone, Draco? Please?”

“Hermione--”

“Please.”

He must have spoken, but she didn’t hear what he said. She only heard the sound of his footsteps and a door clicking shut as he left.

House of Horror was correct. She had experienced nearly seven years of fear and terror and pain. A mountain troll was her first real taste of fear for herself. A game of Wizard’s Chess was her first real taste of fear for her friends. The Shrieking Shack, the Department of Mysteries, the Muggle-born Registry. Those events had shaped her.

And yet...she was remembered for the time she spent in this room. Her existence as Harry Potter’s best friend had been reduced to the torture she’d endured. She had done so much for Harry and Ron and the wizarding world. She had given up her childhood and her education. And for what?

“For Harry,” Hermione whispered. She’d done it all for the same reason she’d cast a stinging jinx on Harry the moment the snatchers got them. She had to keep him alive so he could save the world.

“Miss Granger?”

Hermione whirled around to see Narcissa standing just inside the door. “Mrs. Malfoy! My apologies, I didn’t hear you come in.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you, dear.” She walked further into the room. “And please, call me Narcissa.

Hermione smiled, “I hope we’re not intruding. Draco has this theory that--”

“Yes,” she made a non-committal noise. “His plan does seem to be coming together, doesn’t it?”

The older woman had begun to wander around the room, much like Draco did when he listened to Hermione speak.

“Narcissa, what--”

“I would like to apologize for the events of that day.” Narcissa turned to address her. “What happened in this room was unacceptable, and I regret the part we played in it.”

Hermione certainly wasn’t expecting that. She took a moment to compose herself before she spoke. “You did what you felt you had to keep your family safe. I understand that. You did what you could. Draco didn’t identify Harry. He was reluctant to identify Ron and me. And we both know you’re a better dueler than your performance indicated. You made sure Draco was out of harm’s way. That’s admirable.”

“You are quite the witch, Miss Granger.”

“I appreciate the compliment,” Hermione smiled again. “However, like you, I simply did what I felt I should.”

“Being tortured and scarred on my drawing room floor was a part of that?”

She stilled. “It kept Harry safe, so yes.”

“And what about your safety? Surely, you deserve it as well.”

“With all due respect, Narcissa, it was never about me.”

“Hm,” Narcissa gave her a scrutinizing look before continuing her circuit around the room. “You should tell Draco everything.”

“But why?”

“You’re the cleverest witch of your age, Miss Granger. I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out yet.”

“Mother.” Both women turned to find Draco standing in the doorway. Hermione couldn’t read the look on his face. This was all getting so frustratingly confusing.

Narcissa smirked, “Alright, Draco. I’ll leave you be. Please visit me more often. You can come to see me in France, you know.”

“Yes, mother,” Draco kissed her cheek as she walked past him and out into the hall.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Draco began wandering the room, taking the same path his mother had. He spoke first. “So, what happened?”

Hermione snorted. “You were there, Draco.”

He just raised an eyebrow at her.

“Fine,” she grumbled. Despite the fact that his plan seemed to be helping her nightmares, despite Narcissa’s insistence that she tell him, she really did not want to recount that day. “It was Harry who broke the taboo.”

“What?!”

Hermione looked up at him, then chuckled. “I forgot that detail isn’t in any of the books. Ron and I tried to stop him from finishing the name, but he was riled up and said it anyway. I didn’t have time to pack or fight or think, so I caste a stinging hex on Harry’s face. When the snatcher’s got us, we lied about who we were. We knew we were caught, but I think we were just hoping they wouldn’t kill us on the spot. If they didn’t kill us immediately, we could get out.”

She paused, tears coming to her eyes. “I’m the one they recognized. They had a copy of the _Prophet_ with my picture on it that said I was known to be traveling with Harry. I’m the one that gave us away.”

“Hermione--”

“They brought us here since they thought it was Harry,” she continued, ignoring his interruption. “Your mother came to the gate and let us all in. She said...she said that you were home for Easter holidays and could help identify us.”

Draco didn’t say anything this time.

“My memories from this room are a little hazy, but I remember you refusing to identify Harry. I remember you being reluctant to identify Ron and me.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything.” His voice was shaky. He wasn’t looking at her. “I shouldn’t have identified any of you. I was a coward.”

“We were all scared kids, Draco. It wasn’t your fault.” She took a deep breath, then continued. “Despite the terror that coursed through me when Bellatrix started screaming about the sword, I remember feeling relief when they sent Harry and Ron down to the dungeon. I knew that if they were down there, they would figure out a way to get to safety. I just knew that they would be okay as long as they weren’t getting hurt.”

Hermione walked over to the spot on the rug and looked down at it. The oriental pattern blurred the longer she stared. “There was pain. I know that much. I was begging and pleading.”

“You were so strong,” Draco murmured.

“It’s almost funny now,” she laughed to herself, but it was humorless. “Bellatrix was casting an unforgivable curse on me. I was in so much pain, and all I could think of was the Shrieking Shack.”

“You...what?”

“I explained before what I learned about friendship that night in third year.” She paused. He nodded. “Well, white-hot pain was running through me, and I was begging for her to stop, and all I could think about was what I learned that night. The selfish part of me was wishing that Harry and Ron would have pleaded to take my place, that they would have done anything to spare me that torture.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

Hermione startled. His outburst was unexpected, but the look on his face was unsettling. He was angry.

“Draco--”

“Hermione.” He ran a hand through his hair in a frustrated gesture. “Weasley begged for them to take him instead. Greyback was making lewd comments, and all Weasley could do was scream for you. Potter got him calmed down to come up with a plan, but you screaming like you were? It hurt him, too. You’re their family, Hermione. They could have had Dobby apparate them out with the others, but they came up to save you!”

“They needed the sword, Draco.”

“They needed you!”

“No, they--”

“Bloody hell, woman!” Draco threw his hands in the air. “Do you really not see it? They love you, Hermione! They fought a bloody war for you! Sure, there was some dumb prophecy, but do you honestly think the only reason Potter and Weasley did it was for the greater good? They’re not that selfless. It was personal for them! They’re best friend is a muggle-born. They fought for _you_ so that _you_ could have a good life. It stopped being right vs. wrong the moment that mountain troll attacked you. Everything Potter did, everything Weasley and Longbottom and Lovegood and McGonagall did was for you.”

Hermione couldn’t move. She couldn’t breathe. She’d never...she hadn’t thought of it that way. Of course, she was fighting for her own rights, but she’d never really thought that others had been fighting for her as well.

“Malfoy, I...” She croaked. “I don’t--”

“Dammit, Hermione.”

And then he was kissing her. This was nothing like the sweet kiss in the Great Hall or the soft kiss in the Room of Requirement. No, this was deep and passionate. It felt like Draco was trying to convince her that everything he’d just said was true. His hands found her hips and pulled her tight against him. She moaned into his mouth at the feeling of him pressed hard to her middle.

When he pulled away, he pressed his forehead to hers. They were both breathing heavily.

“I was just,” she took a deep breath. “Going to say that I didn’t know what to say. I’d never...I’d never thought of it like that.”

“You are a powerful witch, Hermione Granger. And you are loved and needed and deserve to be celebrated.”

She smiled up at him, a fluttering in her stomach.

Despite the scene they’d left, a warm and fuzzy feeling continued to flow through Hermione. It continued as she told him about recovering at Shell Cottage. It continued as they stood in the Gringotts lobby, the goblins eyeing her suspiciously. It continued as they apparated to Hogsmeade and walked to the castle.

The warmth did not, however, stay with her when they entered the Chamber of Secrets. Water dripped from somewhere in the large hall, the sound echoing around them.

Hermione stopped in front of the basilisk’s skeleton, reaching out to run a finger along a remaining fang. “After we arrived, Harry ran off with Luna to look for the diadem. Ron and I weren’t sure what to do or how to help. The adrenaline was making me half-crazy, and I think I was just at the end of my rope, you know?”

“I think we all were,” Draco was staring at her.

“It was Ron’s idea to come down here. Harry had destroyed the diary with a basilisk fang, so he thought we could find something down here to help. It was brilliant, really. I was so proud of him. Anyway, he grabbed someone’s broom and ran here. Merlin, it was terrifying. People were running everywhere and...well, you were there, too. So, Ron opened the door to the Chamber, just like you did. I supposed Harry told you how to do it?”

Draco nodded. He was looking at the skeleton now.

“We ran in here. Ron broke off a fang, and I got the cup out of my bag. I was waiting for him to destroy it. But he...he wanted me to do it. Looking back, I wonder if he just didn’t want me to see it attack him.”

“But, it attacked you instead.”

Hermione sighed. “Do you remember our third year DADA exam? I couldn’t make it past the boggart. It popped out, and there was McGonagall, looking so disappointed in me and saying I’d failed all my exams.”

“What--”

“In here, when I raised the fang, poised to bring it down and destroy the cup, the Horcrux acted. McGonagall and Harry materialized. She...she kept saying I was a fraud, that I wasn’t strong and didn’t deserve magic. Harry kept saying that he didn’t need me. He said I only slowed him down and how they would’ve been better off without me.”

“Hermione,” Draco murmured. He closed the short distance between them and wrapped his arms around her. “You have to know that’s not true.”

“Logically, I know that,” she moved away from him to pace around the Chamber. “Logically, I know that magic just happens. It’s not a question of deserving it. The wand chooses the wizard, right? And I know that what Ron saw in the Forest of Dean wasn’t true, because I certainly don’t want to be with Harry. Ew.”

Draco chuckled. “Good to know.”

“But sometimes...sometimes I’m still that little girl who Ron made fun of. I’m still cowering with fear in a girls’ bathroom. I’m still the girl who learned that maybe her friendship wasn’t as pure as she thought. I’m still sixteen and not fast enough to stop Dolohov from cursing me. I’m still eighteen and covered in blood and...and piss and begging Bellatrix for my life.”

For the first time in months, Draco didn’t have a response. He didn’t say something quippy or comforting. He just stood there looking at her, his head cocked to one side as if he was trying to make sense of something.

“Ron’s screaming finally registered, and I stabbed the cup.” Hermione shook her head and straightened her shoulders. She turned towards the exit. “The Room of Requirement is next.”

And so they went to the Room of Requirement, though neither spoke much. They went to the Whomping Willow and the Shrieking Shack, where she told him about Voldemort and Nagini and Snape.

When they came to the Great Hall, Hermione stopped in the doorway.

The House Tables were lined up along the walls. She could almost hear Madam Pomfrey issuing commands to Padma. She could see Oliver laying Colin’s body on a flimsy white cot. She could feel the sadness radiating through the room. Sadness for Fred and Colin and Lavender and...and...and…

Draco grabbed her hand, startling her. “It’s alright, Hermione. I’m right here.”

She swallowed thickly, then nodded and slowly entered the room. Looking around, Hermione found she couldn’t speak. Even after sitting at the staff table all year for meals, after walking the length of the room countless times, this felt different. It felt just like it did that night.

“After Harry defeated Voldemort and reached some closure with Dumbledore’s portrait, I came back down here. I was so exhausted, and everyone was either crying or celebrating, and I think...I think maybe I was in shock? It was like I didn’t know how to just sit and not have anything to do if that makes sense?”

He nodded.

“So I found Madame Pomfrey and started helping the injured. Harry and Ron went to be with the Weasleys, but I just...I couldn’t sit still.”

“You were brilliant.”

She spun to look at him. “What?”

“McGonagall had fixed the house tables, and I was sitting with Mother and Father at the end of the Ravenclaw table. We were...Merlin, we were bloody terrified. Father was twitching and muttering like he didn’t know what to do with himself now. Mother and I were clinging to each other. I could tell she was scared the Aurors would come and separate us.”

“She loves you.”

“She does,” Draco confirmed. “And I held her hand the entire time we sat there, but I watched you. Potter was holding his girlfriend and hoping no one noticed him. Weasel was hugging his mum and trying to keep everyone’s spirits up. And you? Hermione, you were still moving like that battle was raging around you. I don’t know if anyone else noticed, but you never stopped to breathe. You jumped a little every time someone snuck up on you.”

Hermione pulled her hand from his grasp and walked to the center of the room. “We’d been fighting for so long, Draco. All of us had. We’d been fighting for seven years. We’d been on the run for eight months. We’d been in an active battle for nearly six hours. It’s like I didn’t know how to shut it off. It’s like...It’s like it didn’t feel over. Like it had been too sudden or something.”

“We had been fighting for so long, tortured for so long, that it didn’t seem that the end could really be here.”

“Yes, exactly,” she looked up at the ceiling. It was the night sky. She could see stars, constellations, and the moon.

“It’s bewitched to look like the sky, you know. Some swot in my first year told everyone during our sorting.”

Hermione looked back at him and grinned. “I read about it in _Hogwarts: A History_.”

“They’ll read about you someday,” Draco said casually.

She froze. “What? I’m already in the books. We’ve talked about this and--”

“Miss Granger, Mr. Malfoy,” McGonagall came striding into the Great Hall. “Is this your last stop?”

“Yes, Headmistress,” Hermione answered.

“Well then, let us right the wrongs.”

With a flick of McGonagall’s wand, the House Tables glided across the floor to their rightful places. Goosebumps broke out over Hermione’s skin as a rush of magic filled the hall.

Hermione turned to face Draco, gripping both of his hands.

“We’ve finished, Draco,” she murmured. “We told the story.”

“Hermione…” he started.

“You said that we could…” she paused. “If I still wanted to when we were done. And I want to.”

“Hermione,” Draco repeated. “I think we should wait--”

“I don’t want to wait.”

He searched her eyes for a moment. She wasn’t sure what he was looking for, but he must have found it. “Okay.”

McGonagall stopped them as they turned to leave. “Mr. Malfoy.”

“Yes, Headmistress?” Draco looked back at her.

“Perhaps your story isn’t finished yet.”

“It is,” he confirmed with a tight nod. “I’m ready.”

McGonagall returned his nod, then left the Great Hall.

Hermione looked at him, puzzled. “Draco? What did she mean by--”

“Are you sure, Hermione?”

A part of her wanted to push back, to argue until he told her what on earth was going on. But the other part of her, the larger part, the part that loved him more than anything, wanted to feel his body against her own.

So, she just smiled and stepped closer to feel his heat. “Your rooms or mine?”


	10. Golden Girl: Cleverest Witch of Her Age

**April 2005**

Hermione stretched languidly, the movement causing Draco’s arms to tighten around her naked form. She blushed, remembering the night before.

They’d made love several times--and it really was making love. It had been...incredible, like nothing else Hermione had experienced. He had brought her to orgasm with his hands and mouth before entering her and bringing her to yet another peak.

It was perfect.

“Good morning, love,” Draco murmured sleepily against her skin.

“Good morning,” she couldn’t help but grin. “Go back to sleep. I’ll be right back.”

Removing herself from his warm embrace, Hermione stood from the bed and pulled on Draco’s discarded jumper. The stone floor was cold beneath her bare feet as she quickly moved through the sitting room and into the bathroom.

After using the loo, she couldn’t help but stare at herself in the mirror. She looked...happy. Radiant, even, in a way she hadn’t in years. Her cheeks were flushed, and wild curls stuck out from her head at odd places. Draco’s sweater reached the top of her thighs, covering just enough to be almost decent. She could admit that the reflection staring back at her looked wonderful. And she felt wonderful.

Hermione was on her way back to bed, back to Draco, when it all came crashing down.

She wasn’t sure why the book lying innocuously on Draco’s desk caught her eye. The desk itself sat on the other side of the sitting room, away from the bathroom and bedroom doors. The book lay in the middle of the desk, its black cover partially obscured by parchment.

She also wasn’t sure what compelled her to cross the room and pick up the short letter.

_Mr. Malfoy,_

_We are delighted to inform you that we would be honored to assist in publishing your book. No edits are needed._

_You will find the contract enclosed._

_Best, Oluphiar Phiqinn_

Heart pounding, Hermione dropped the parchment back on the desk and picked up the book. Gold filigree glittered up at her.

**_The Golden Girl: Cleverest Witch of Her Age_ **

She froze, humiliation and anger battling to be the dominant emotion. Then, she opened the front cover to find the title page.

**_The Golden Girl: Cleverest Witch of Her Age_ **

_By Draco Malfoy_

She turned to the dedication page.

_To the cleverest witch of our age, who is also the kindest, most loyal, and most powerful witch I've ever had the pleasure of knowing._

She turned to the first page.

**_Chapter One:_ ** _First Year_

_Most witches and wizards know Hermione Granger as the brains of the Golden Trio, muggle-born best friend of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, top of her class for six years in a row. What many don't know, however, is that her very first friend was Neville Longbottom. They met on the…_

Hermione couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. She couldn't do anything except stare at the words on the page in front of her. 

How dare he. How _dare_ he.

Rage began to flow through her. Her hands shook as she clutched the book in her hands. Goosebumps broke out across her skin. A wave of pure, unadulterated anger pushed through her core.

"Hermione?" Draco's sleepy voice came wafting into the room. She spun to find him leaning against the door frame. She saw red.

"How dare you?!" Hermione's chest heaved as her lungs finally drew in a breath.

He looked at her with confusion for a moment before his eyes settled on the book she still held in her hands. His eyes widened. "Hermione, listen. I--"

"No, _Malfoy_!" Hermione yelled, deliberately using his surname. Clutching the book to her chest, she crossed the room to stand in front of him. Her hair and fingertips were practically sparking with angry magic. She could feel the pulses of it thrumming through her body. "You listen! Let me tell you what this looks like. It looks like you _forced_ me to tell you everything. It looks like you're going to publish _my_ story for everyone to read! It looks like you're going to make a bloody profit off of my pain!"

"Hermione--" He tried again, but she wasn't interested.

She pushed past him into the bedroom. Setting the book down just long enough to pull on her denims and replace his jumper with her own, she grabbed the book and her wand and made for the door.

"Hermione, wait, please," Draco grabbed her arm just as she reached the exit.

"Say it, Malfoy," she spat his surname again. "Say that it's not true. Tell me you didn't write a book about me and everything I told you."

He let go of her arm, his face filled with a pain she couldn't understand. How could he be hurt right now? She was the one who'd been exploited.

She wanted him to deny it, she really did. Surely this was just some morbid joke.

But he didn't speak. He didn't meet her eyes.

Hermione returned to her rooms and changed clothes, pulling on a new pair of denims and a t-shirt. After shoving her feet in her trainers and tying her hair up in a bun, she left to find answers.

"Did you know about this?!" Hermione screeched as she entered the Headmistress's office.

Several heads turned to look at her with stunned expressions. Harry. Ginny. Ron. Neville. Luna.

"Miss Granger," McGonagall started, taken aback by the outburst.

"Did you know about this?" Hermione asked again, slamming the book down on the large desk.

The Headmistress fell silent, looking uncomfortable.

"Ah! Miss Granger," Dumbledore clapped his hand once. She looked up to find him in the process of sitting and getting comfortable within his frame. "So, he's finished it, then? What do you think? I do hope that--"

"Albus!" McGonagall's tone was not one she had heard in years.

"Minerva, I was merely asking if she could confirm whether or not Draco had completed his book." He responded calmly, gesturing to the item in question. "And it appears as though he has."

"Professor, please," Harry started as he stood from his seat.

"Oh, Harry! Yes, have you read the part about sixth year? I think Draco used the quote you sent about--"

"Albus!" McGonagall raised her voice. "That is quite enough."

Hermione could only look around at each of her friends in turn. "You...you all knew about this?"

Harry looked guilty. Ginny and Ron looked nervous. Neville looked as if he might throw up. And Luna…

Luna had a serene smile on her face. "It's wonderful, isn't it, Hermione?"

"I...what?" How could any of this be wonderful? She'd been exploited. Her pain was going to be published for the world to see. And the worst of it was, her friends were all in on it.

"It's wonderful," Luna continued. "That you have so many people who care for you. The book Draco wrote is really very good. You are very lucky."

Stunned, Hermione couldn't find any words to respond. They knew. They all knew and hadn't told her. Harry, at least, had even helped Malfoy.

When she didn't say anything, everyone seemed to start talking at once. 

"We're sorry--"

"We thought you knew, so--"

"We just wanted to do something nice--"

"I would like to speak with Miss Granger alone, if you all are quite done," Snape's voice sounded bored as it wafted from his portrait, effectively ending all conversation.

As her friends filed out of the room with guilty looks, McGonagall looked at Hermione. “Miss Granger, I--”

“That includes you, Minerva,” Snape turned to the portrait next to him. “Albus.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled with mischief as he stood. “Of course! I’ll just go see how the Ministry is fairing without Miss Granger there to keep everyone in line.”

As he walked out of his portrait, McGonagall offered Hermione an apologetic smile and exited her office.

Snape didn’t say anything at first. Hermione’s anger was still bubbling beneath her skin, and his shrewd gaze wasn’t tampering the fire.

“Professor--” she started.

“You feel as though you have put your faith in the wrong person.”

“Of course, I did! I shouldn’t have--”

“I know the feeling well, Miss Granger, and yet I do not believe you have done so.”

Hermione whirled around to look at him. “What do you--”

“Have you read the book?”

“Of course not,” she scowled, wishing he would stop interrupting her. “I read the first few sentences and--”

Snape sneered. “I never thought that I would see the day our resident insufferable know-it-all judged a book by its cover.”

“Are you kidding me?!” she couldn’t hold her anger any longer. She started pacing, hands flying as she ranted. “Have you seen it? It’s my entire life laid out for everyone to read. The Troll, the Shrieking Shack, the Department of Mysteries, Malfoy Manor--It’s all there! You can’t even imagine how that feels!”

“Can’t I?”

Hermione whirled around to find Snape looking at her with an eyebrow raised. She blushed, her anger fading into embarrassment. Of course, he understood how she felt. In the seven years since his death, several books had come out about the Potions Master. Rita Skeeter had written what was supposed to be a riveting expose called _Love or Obsession: The Secrets of Severus Snape_ , though it didn’t sell well. The most popular book, _The Bravest Man_ , was authored by an anonymous writer. Surely someone had read the books to him. Undoubtedly, McGonagall forced him to sit in his portrait and listen to her.

“I apologize, Professor,” Hermione sank down in a rather uncomfortable chair and stared at her hands. “I just feel so...so betrayed.”

“Yes, I imagine you would,” he acknowledged. “And yet, when has that ever stopped you from seeking truth and knowledge?”

She bit her lip, still staring down at her lap. Snape was correct, of course. Though he hadn’t explicitly stated it, she needed to read the book.

With a heavy sigh, she stood and grabbed the book from McGonagall’s desk. “Thank you, professor.”

“Miss Granger?” Snape called out, continuing only when she turned to look at him. “You are an exceptional witch. Do not forget that.”

After leaving the Headmistress’s Office, Hermione headed to her quarters for a shower and a fresh change of clothes. She wasn’t particularly worried about staffing the library today. McGonagall could figure it out. She had bigger things to worry about.

Like reading the damned book.

Not wanting to stay in her rooms in case Draco came looking for her, Hermione set off through the castle to find somewhere quiet to read--an abandoned classroom, maybe. She was in the dungeons, grumbling to herself about her predicament when a door suddenly appeared next to her.

Intrigued, she entered the room. It was small but cozy, with a fireplace and a comfy chair. It was perfect for reading a book.

Hermione couldn’t help but smile a little. Apparently, the Room of Requirement did not disappear completely. It now resided in the depths of the castle below the owlery. Magic was funny sometimes.

Smile slipping from her face, she sat in the overstuffed chair, took a fortifying breath, and opened the book.

**_Chapter One:_ ** _First Year_

_Most witches and wizards know Hermione Granger as the brains of the Golden Trio, muggle-born best friend of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, top of her class for six years in a row. What many don't know, however, is that her very first friend was Neville Longbottom. They met on the…_

**_Chapter Two:_ ** _Second Year_

_Hermione’s second year at Hogwarts was her first interaction with the awful prejudice that once plagued the wizarding world. A pompous little boy called her a “mudblood” for the first time, the Chamber of Secrets was opened, and she was petrified. Still, Hermione managed to accomplish what many full-grown wizards cannot. At just thirteen years old, she brewed a Polyjuice potion and..._

**_Chapter Three:_ ** _Third Year_

_At Hogwarts, students may choose electives to take in their third year. Hermione chose all of them. In order to attend all her classes, she used a Time-Turner, which is a magical device witches and wizards may use to go back in time an hour or two. Hermione managed to not only take every course available at Hogwarts, but she also..._

**_Chapter Four:_ ** _Fourth Year_

_While Rita Skeeter was publishing slander in the_ Daily Prophet _about Hermione’s supposed affairs with her famous peers, Hermione started the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare. The group, S.P.E.W, was an organization set up in response to the gross injustice that house-elves experience every day. Hermione’s activism in and passion for S.P.E.W undoubtedly led to her success later in life as head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures and..._

**_Chapter Five:_ ** _Fifth Year_

_It should come as no surprise that Hermione was given the title of Gryffindor Prefect in her fifth year. That does not mean, however, that she followed the rules. In an act of defiance, Hermione started the rebel student group known as Dumbledore’s Army. She believed strongly that the students should be learning Defense Against the Dark Arts, since the ministry-appointed DADA professor was a..._

**_Chapter Six:_ ** _Sixth Year_

_When asked about his relationship with Hermione, Harry Potter simply recalls a statement she made at the end of their sixth year: “You said to us once before that there was time to turn back if we wanted to. We've had time, haven't we?” Harry had just told his friends that he would not be returning to Hogwarts, but that he didn’t expect them to join him. Hermione’s loyalty, even at the start of a Wizarding War, was unwavering. Her sixth year remains an example of..._

**_Chapter Seven:_ ** _Seventh Year_

_At seventeen years of age, while most witches are celebrating their coming-of-age, Hermione Granger was making choices that no one should have to make. She modified her parents’ memories in order to keep them safe. She packed the essentials in a magically-enhanced satchel. She went on the run with Harry Potter in a quest to defeat Lord Voldemort. As Undesirable Number Two, Hermione..._

**_Epilogue:_ ** _Author’s Note_

_Most witches and wizards know Hermione Granger as the brains of the Golden Trio, muggle-born best friend of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, top of her class for six years in a row. What many don't know, however, is that she is not only the cleverest witch of our age, but perhaps the most powerful as well. She is more than the girl who helped Harry Potter and Ron Weasley with homework. She is more than the girl who was tortured on the floor of the Drawing Room in Malfoy Manor._

_Hermione Granger is an exceptional witch who sacrificed a great deal for what an old man once called “the greater good.”_

Hermione closed the book. Unsure of what to think, she simply stared at the flames in the fireplace for a long time.

Then, slowly, she opened the book again and started at the beginning.


	11. The Battle of Hogwarts

**May 2005**

By the time May rolled around, Hermione had experienced at least three of the five stages of grief.

**Denial?** Check. She spent two days trying to convince herself that there was no way her friends would do this to her, that Harry and Ron would help Draco accomplish this bloody “mission” of his. How could they tell all her secrets? They were her best friends. How could Luna, kind and loyal and weird Luna, have contributed to this betrayal? Even more, how could Draco have wanted to write the book in the first place? She had told him everything. She’d told him things that even Harry and Ron didn’t know. They had shared something, hadn’t they? So surely he hadn’t aired her past for the Wizarding World to see.

**Anger?** Check. She spent a week seething. Bouts of accidental magic caused several glass vials in her room to explode whenever she let her ire get the best of her. Students who normally frequented the library showed up less and less often in order to avoid the books that would randomly fly off the shelves. Magic seemed to crackle around Hermione wherever she went. Even Hagrid couldn’t help ease her anger. If anything, he only made it worse. After all, hadn’t he helped the traitors she used to call friends? The man she’d called in love with?

**Depression?** Check. Because she had fallen in love with him. The last eight or so months had shown Hermione a different side to Draco. They had grown incredibly close, closer than she had ever felt with Ron during their relationship. Not only had Draco listened to her stories about the war, but he had also debated with her about Arithmancy and Ancient Runes and Gamp’s Laws of Transfiguration. He’d held her when she cried and screamed and ranted, but he’d also laughed with her. The weeks she spent without him were increasingly difficult, a dark shadow falling over her as the anger ebbed away.

**Bargaining?** Perhaps. In the days where her anger had faded into depression, Hermione considered how she might convince Draco to stop the publication. Maybe it wasn’t too late. Maybe there was something, anything, she could say that would stop him from publishing. She knew any attempt would be futile, however. The book had already been accepted by a publisher. Too many people already knew about it. To stop it now would make it seem like she had something to hide.

Hermione rolled over in her bed. Early morning light was just starting to peek through her curtains. She sighed. Yes, she’d gone through three, perhaps four, of the five stages of grief. Which only left one.

**Acceptance?** Not quite, but it would figure that she was contemplating it that day. It was just how life worked.

Early morning light was just beginning to peek through the window when Hermione heaved a sigh and rolled out of bed. It was a Monday, which meant she had to deftly avoid Draco’s guilty looks and McGonagall’s pitying frowns and Neville’s fumbled apologies. Lucky for her, she’d gotten quite good at it the last few weeks.

Unlucky for her, it was May 2nd. The day of the Anniversary Gala.

Hermione strode to her desk and picked up the invitation she had received a month ago.

_Miss Hermione Granger,_

_You are cordially invited to the **Seventh Anniversary Gala of the Battle of Hogwarts**_

_on **May 2nd, 2005** at **8:00pm**_

_at **Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.**_

_We will celebrate our victories, remember our pasts, and look to the future._

_Kingsley Shacklebolt_

_Minister of Magic_

The invitation was polite and perfunctory, and when it arrived, she had been ready to send Kingsley a not-so-kind letter via a not-so-kind owl. Then she noticed the small, hand-written note remaining in the envelope.

_Hermione-_

_Together, we fought Death Eaters on the back of a Thestral. Together, we protected Hogwarts. Together, we began the change the Ministry needed. I would be honored for you to attend this year’s Gala._

_If that doesn’t persuade you, I would like to remind you that you have not attended related events in the last six years and you owe me._

_-Kingsley_

Hermione sighed again. She often wondered if the Minister was a Slytherin.

That evening found Hermione pacing the Entrance Hall, occasionally glancing at the doors to the Great Hall.

Kingsley and McGonagall had warded them to ensure that only those invited could enter. In the past, the intention would have been to keep out Death Eaters. Now, it was only meant to keep the prying eyes of students out of the Great Hall.

She let out a long breath, stopped pacing, and turned to face the doors. There is a reason she never went to these events. She hated them. Still, she had to. Kingsley all but blackmailed her. She was Hermione Granger, and she could do this.

Maybe, she thought as her heart began to race.

“It gets easier, doesn’t it?” a voice came from behind her.

A sense of deja vu settled over Hermione as she turned to find a blonde walking toward her.

Hermione tipped her head. “Hello, Luna.”

“The wrackspurts are gone, I see,” Luna grinned. “I’m glad. I was very worried about you when we left the Headmistress’s office the other day. There were quite a few flying around your head. They get into your ears, you know.”

Smiling, some of the tension drained out of Hermione’s body. She had grown to appreciate Luna’s quirks. “I apologize for worrying you. I was rather...distraught that morning.”

“It’s okay to be angry,” Luna stated simply.

“Yes, I know. I think I’ve come to accept that.”

“I’m happy to hear that you’ve reached acceptance, Hermione. It’s very nice to be loved that much,” the blonde’s eyes sparkled. “Shall we go in? Ginny promised me there would be pudding.”

As the younger woman began to walk away, Hermione called out to stop her, “Luna?”

“Yes, Hermione?”

“Why did you go with us that day? To the Department of Mysteries? I mean, you hardly knew any of us. We weren’t the kindest to you in the beginning. So…” she paused. “So why did you follow us into an unknown situation? Into battle?”

The blonde’s head tilted to the side just slightly. “Why did you go with Harry and Ron into the rooms off the Third Floor Corridor? They weren’t very kind to you in the beginning, either. It was an unknown situation.”

“Because we were friends, of course. They needed me.”

Luna just smiled her serene, knowing smile and walked through the doors to the Great Hall.

Hermione could only shake her head ruefully and follow the other woman.

“...where we are now,” Kingsley finished up his speech as she walked in. Thank goodness she’d missed that. She liked Kingsley but being Minister of Magic apparently made one particularly long-winded.

She grabbed a glass of champagne from a floating tray and settled into a secluded spot against the wall. 

“At this time,” Kingsley continued. “I’d like to invite the one and only Mr. Harry Potter up here to say a few words.”

Hermione froze as a murmur swept through the crowd. Harry never spoke at these events. He hated them as much as Hermione did, but he wasn’t as adept at getting out of going. So, he and Kingsley usually compromised by agreeing that Harry wouldn’t have to speak.

Harry cleared his throat nervously and rubbed the back of his neck. “Hello, everyone. Thank you for attending this event. I know that the Ministry really appreciates it.” A few people chuckled. Harry adjusted his glasses, then continued. “Kingsley has been trying to get me to make a speech for ages. If you’ve ever met me, you know that I’m not much for words. So, I tried to think of what my best friends would do. Ron wasn’t much help, really.”

Another chuckle rippled through the audience. Hermione smiled at the grin on Ron’s face as Padma laughed and agreed. Harry may not be the best with words, but the D.A.-Leader in him was starting to show in the way he walked back and forth across the small raised platform.

“Hermione would tell me to think of other great speakers or speeches I’ve heard and model mine after them. Well, Professor Dumbledore once began a welcome feast by saying nitwit, blubber, oddment, and tweak. Professor Snape had a tendency to frighten his audience during his informative speeches. I thought about the seven years I spent at Hogwarts, and I thought about the war. I thought about our friends and family and those we lost along the way. I went on and on and couldn’t come up with anything. Then, I came across this book.”

Hermione froze.

“In the seven years since the war ended, older books have been updated to include the Second Wizarding War. Countless new ones have been released. But this book? I actually read it cover to cover. I’m not sure I’d ever done that before.”

More laughter. More whispers. Hermione’s heart began to race. She was so tired of feeling her pulse speed up.

“This book, it’s called _The Golden Girl: The Cleverest Witch of Her Age_. It’s about my best friend, and I’m ashamed to admit that I learned a lot when I read it. You would think that I know all there is to know about Hermione Granger, but I didn’t. I’m ashamed to say that there’s a lot that I missed out on in the last fourteen years. And there’s a lot you have, too.”

He had addressed the now-silent audience with his last statement. It was eerily quiet in the hall, with the exception of a fussy baby James.

Harry continued to address the audience. “Have you all read the books about the war? They talk about me. They talk about Professors Dumbledore and Snape, about the Weasleys and the Order of the Phoenix. What do you remember reading about Hermione?”

Harry paused to clean his glasses. “Have you paid attention to that bloody awful statue that stands in the Ministry Atrium? Ron and I look powerful, where Hermione looks meek. Have you all _met_ Hermione Granger? She’s the opposite of how she is being portrayed. She’s brilliant and powerful and--”

Ron climbed the steps to the podium and laid a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “We fought this war for a lot of reasons, and none of us had a lot of choices. You all may think that Harry only fought because he had to and that I only fought because I’m a Weasley, but that’s not it, not really. I may only have the emotional range of a teaspoon, right? But I think what Harry is trying to say here is that we all fought because it was the right thing to do. Me, Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, Hermione. We all fought because blood-purity is shite and doesn’t mean a thing.”

“Look,” Harry sighed. “Like I said, I’m not so good with words. I just need you all to know, I need Hermione to know that...we may have fought against the dark, against blood purity. But really? The thing we were fighting for all along was her.”

The audience clapped and cheered. Tears filled Hermione’s eyes, but for the first time in weeks, they weren’t tears of anger or sadness. Instead, her heart was swelling with love and happiness.

Nearly slamming her glass down on the nearest table, Hermione ran towards the podium. Harry and Ron jumped down, not bothering with the stairs, and the Golden Trio hugged each other fiercely.

Across Ron’s shoulder, her eyes found Draco’s, and she grinned at him. He simply nodded in return and raised his glass to her.

“We’re sorry, Hermione,” Harry pulled away from their hug. “We had no idea that--”

“You know how oblivious we are,” Ron added. “I wish you’d told us so--”

Hermione waved them off. “No, I’m sorry. I know I should have told you everything from the start. I just…” She trailed off.

Harry and Ron nodded in understanding. Behind them, Neville looked extremely relieved. Ginny gave her a thumbs up. 

Draco still stood alone in a corner.

“Would you just forgive him already?” Harry ran a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” Ron agreed.

“We’re tired of being owled at all hours because he needs advice about you.”

Hermione sucked in a breath, surprised. “He...really?”

Ron rolled his eyes. “Duh.”

She laughed, then placed a hand on each of their arms. “Are we...okay?”

“Of course, Hermione. There are some things you can’t share without ending up best friends.” Harry pushed his glasses up on his nose. “Let me know when you want to sneak into the Ministry and destroy that awful statue, yeah?”

With that, Ron went on to rescue Padma from a conversation with Seamus, and Harry snuck out of the room. Hermione had a feeling he was headed for the Headmistress’s office.

When she found Draco, he had a new glass of champagne and was tucked into a different corner of the room.

She leaned against the wall next to him. “You’re forgiven.”

He turned to fully face her, a meaningful look in his eyes. “I am so sorry, Granger. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just...I read all that shite, and I got to know you and...something needed to be done. Everyone needed to see the person I saw every day.

“I know,” she sighed. “I’ve...accepted it.”

“Accepted it?”

“You did it out of love,” Hermione looked away from him. “That’s what Luna says anyway.”

Draco cleared his throat. “Yes, well. You know how Luna can be.”

Hermione looked up to find him grinning. She grabbed his hand and pushed off from the wall. “Now, I rather hate these things anyway, and I have it on good authority that you very much enjoyed the dress I wore to the Yule Ball.”

Predictably, Draco’s eyes trailed down to see what she was wearing. The moment recognition hit, he dragged her through a side door and into the ante-chamber off the Great Hall. Hermione’s dress was periwinkle-blue.

Okay, so there was a possibility that she had forgiven him before today.

* * *

**Three Months Later, August 2005**

Draco sighed and stretched his back, looking around his classroom. Cleaning up after the summer holiday always took longer than he thought, even with using magic.

“What is this shite?” Hermione entered the room, levitating a stack of books onto his desk.

“Hermione, love,” he crossed the room and wrapped his arms around her. “I haven’t seen you in a week, and this is how you greet me?”

“Yes,” she pulled away from him, an indignant look on her face. “Have you read these?”

Draco looked at the titles in the stack. _Hogwarts: A History, Modern Magical History, The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_.

“Of course.” He’d read them a year ago before deciding to write about her. “But you know that already. Why--”

He stopped talking. He could feel the color drain from his face as the mischievous grin widened on Hermione’s face.

“Challenge accepted, Mr. Malfoy,” she turned and strode towards the door. “Looks like it’s going to be a very _novel_ year after all.”


End file.
